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LETTERS     OF     CELIA     THAXTER.       Edited    by 

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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


STORIES  AND    POEMS 
FOR   CHILDREN 


BY 

CELIA  THAXTER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

pvrss, 
1895 


Copyright,  1883  and  1895, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  V.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


7  ^4Jf  sure  £Aa£  t/  Jfrs.  Thaxter  had  lived  to  com- 
plete the  arrangement  of  this  book  of  stories  and 
verses  for  children,  she  would  have  dedicated  it  to  her 
dear  grandchildren  and  to  the  little  nieces  so  near  to 
her  heart.  I  know  that  she  would  like  to  have  me 
stand  in  her  place  and  say  that  this  book  is  made  for 
them  first  of  all,  and  I  am  sure  that  it  will  help  those 
ivho  cannot  well  remember  her  to  know  something  of 
her  beautiful  generous  kindness  and  delightful  gayety, 
her  gift  of  teaching  young  eyes  to  see  the  flowers  and 
birds  ;  to  knoiv  her  island  of  Appledore  and  its  sea 


8.  0.  J. 


927770 


CONTENTS 

STORIES  FOR  CHILDREN 

PAOB 

THE  SPRAY  SPRITE 3 

MADAME  ARACHNE 14 

CAT'S-CRADLE 22 

THE  BLACKBERRY-BUSH 44 

BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES 48 

SOME  POLITE  DOGS 55 

THE  BEAR  AT  APPLEDORE 62 

PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN     ...  72 

ALMOST  A  TRAGEDY 97 

THE  SANDPIPER'S  NEST           107 

POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN 

THE  SANDPIPER 113 

SPRING 114 

THE  BURGOMASTER  GULL 115 

LITTLE  GUSTAVA 119 

CHANTICLEER 121 

THE  WATER-BLOOM 122 

CROCUS 123 

THE  CONSTANT  DOVE 125 

THE  WANING  MOON 126 

THE  BIRDS'  ORCHESTRA 127 

NIKOLINA 129 

MILKING 130 

YELLOW-BIRD 132 

A  TRIUMPH 133 

SLUMBER  SONG 135 

WARNING 136 

THE  BUTCHER-BIRD 137 

FERN-SEED 139 

THE  GREAT  WHITE  OWL        ...  ...      142 


vi  CONTENTS 

THE  BLIND  LAMB 144 

DUST 149 

THE  SCARECROW 151 

THE  CRADLE 153 

MARCH 155 

THE  SHAG .      156 

SIR  WILLIAM  NAPIER  AND  LITTLE  JOAN         ....  157 

BLUEBIRDS  IN  AUTUMN 161 

TRAGEDY 163 

JACK  FROST 165 

A  LULLABY      167 

APRIL  AND  MAY 168 

ROBIN'S  RAIN-SONG 170 

A  SONG  OF  EASTER 171 

PERSEVERANCE 173 

RESCUED 175 

THE  COCKATOOS 177 

THE  DOUBLE  SUNFLOWER 181 

IN  THE  BLACK  FOREST 183 

AN  OLD  SAW 186 

CRADLE  SONG 187 

MARJORIE 188 

KING  MIDAS 189 

WILD  GEESE 196 

THE  HYLAS     .        .        .       , 197 

THE  SPARROWS 199 

THE  NIGHTINGALE 201 

GOLD  LOCKS  AND  SILVER  LOCKS 203 

THE  KITTIWAKES 205 

LOST 206 

THE  KINGFISHER 208 

THE  WOUNDED  CURLEW 210 

LITTLE  ASSUNTA 212 

INHOSPITALITY 214 

UNDER  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE 217 

PICCOLA 220 

MOZART  AT  THE  FIRESIDE 221 

THE  FLOCK  OF  DOVES 224 

THE  KAISERBLUMEN 225 

THE  GREAT  BLUE  HERON 230 

THE  LOST  BELL .232 

IN  THE  LILAC-BUSH 237 


CONTENTS  vii 

A  POPPY  SEED 239 

BE  LOVELY  WITHIN 242 

THE  UNBIDDEN  GUEST 243 

SIR  WILLIAM  PEPPEKRELL'S  WELL 247 

THE  CHICKADEE 250 

SPRING  PLANTING-TIME 251 

THE  ALBATROSS 253 

THE  NEW  YEAR 254 

AN  OPEN  SECRET 255 

GRANDMOTHER  TO  HER  GRANDSON 256 


STORIES  FOR  CHILDREN 


"Stories  and  Poems  for  Children,"  by 
Celia  Thaxter,  may  be  most  heartily  recom- 
mended to  all  who  are  looking  for  chil- 
dren's books  with  a  genuine  flavor,  and 
want  something  by  an  author  who  has 
proved  her  grace  and  charm  in^Jier  books 
written  for  themselves. 


STORIES  FOR   CHILDREN 


THE  SPRAY  SPRITE 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  a  thousand  years  ago,  there  dwelt 
by  the  sea  a  little  maid.  Had  I  said  in  the  sea,  it 
would  perhaps  have  been  as  well,  for  such  a  spray 
sprite  never  danced  before  at  a  breaker's  edge.  It 
was  bliss  to  her  to  watch  that  great  sea,  to  hear  its 
sweet  or  awful  voices,  to  feel  the  salt  wind  lift  her 
thick  brown  hair  and  kiss  her  cheek;  to  wade,  bare- 
footed, into  the  singing,  sparkling  brine.  Above  all 
things,  she  hated  to  sew  patchwork.  Oh,  but  she  was 
a  naughty  child,  —  not  at  all  like  the  good,  decorous 
little  girls  who  will  perhaps  read  this  story.  She  did  n't 
like  to  sweep  and  dust,  and  keep  all  things  bright  and 
tidy.  She  wished  to  splash  in  the  water  the  whole 
day  long,  and  dance,  and  sing,  and  string  shells,  and 
be  idle  like  the  lovely  white  kittiwakes  that  flew  to 
and  fro  above  her,  and  came  at  the  beckoning  of  her 
hand.  She  looked  with  scorn  on  dolls  and  all  their 
appointments,  and  never  wished  to  play  with  them,  — 
it  was  almost  as  bad  as  patchwork!  But  she  loved  the 


4  THE   SPRAY   SPRITE 

sky,  and  all  the  clouds  and  stars,  the  sun  that  made  a 
glory  in  the  east  and  west  at  morning  and  evening,  the 
changing  moon,  the  streaming  Northern  Lights.  The 
winds  seemed  human,  so  much  they  had  to  say  to  her. 
She  thought,  "The  north  wind  fights  me;  the  west 
wind  plays  with  me ;  the  east  wind  sighs,  and  is  always 
ready  to  weep ;  the  south  wind  loves  and  kisses  me. " 
Every  wave  that  whitened  the  face  of  the  vast  sea  was 
dear  to  her;  every  bird  that  floated  over,  every  sail 
that  glided  across,  —  all  brought  her  a  thrill  of  joy. 
And  what  a  wild  and  keen  delight  came  to  her  with 
the  thunder,  lightning,  and  the  rain!  —  but  with  all 
her  heart  she  hated  the  cold,  white  snow.  Much  she 
liked  to  creep  out  of  the  house  in  the  dusk  of  dawn 
and  climb  the  highest  rocks  to  see  the  morning  break. 
Wrapping  herself  close  from  the  chill  wind,  curling 
into  a  niche  of  the  rough  granite  cliff,  how  beautiful  it 
was,  all  alone  with  the  soaring  gulls,  to  watch  the  east 
grow  rosy,  rosier  to  the  very  zenith,  till  she  shouted 
with  joy,  facing  the  uprisen  sun!  Then  it  was  so 
splendid  to  stand  on  the  rocks  when  the  billows  came 
tumbling  in,  sending  the  spray  flying  high  in  the  air, 
and  throwing  handf uls  of  crimson  dulse  at  her,  or  long 
brown  tresses  of  seaweed,  which  she  caught  and  flung 
back  again,  while  she  was  drenched  with  the  shower, 
and  the  wind  blew  her  about  in  rough  play.  And 
blissful  it  was  to  run  with  the  sandpipers  along  the  edge 
of  the  shallow  waves  on  the  little  beach,  and  dance  in 


THE   SPRAY   SPRITE  5 

the  clear  green  water;  or,  at  low  tide,  to  hang  over 
the  still  surface  of  pools  among  the  rocks,  wherein 
lay  treasures  untold. 

Oh,  those  gardens  of  the  sea !  who  shall  describe  their 
beauty  ?  It  was  as  if  a  piece  of  rainbow  had  fallen 
and  melted  into  them,  such  myriads  of  many-colored 
creatures  and  plants  inhabited  them.  Dear  children, 
if  I  were  to  talk  to  you  the  whole  day,  I  could  not 
tell  you  half  the  wonderful  things  she  saAv  in  those 
clear  depths.  But  I  think  she  liked  best  of  them  all 
the  dainty  Eolis,  a  delicate  shell-less  snail,  with  rosy 
spines  and  tiny  horns. 

To  watch  all  this  marvelous  life  at  the  edge  of  the 
wild  ocean  was  enchanting,  and  she  never  wearied  of 
it.  Then,  among  the  higher  rocks,  grew  a  few  land 
plants  and  grasses,  and  a  single  root  of  fern,  a  world 
of  delight  to  her;  a  whole  tropical  forest  would  not 
have  been  so  precious.  She  gathered  plumes  of  the 
bright  goldenrod  that  nodded  in  the  clefts,  and  crowned 
herself  with  long  garlands  of  the  wild  pink  morning- 
glory;  and  the  gulls  and  the  sandpipers  looked  at  her, 
and  wondered,  I  dare  say,  what  she  did  it  for ;  —  they 
could  have  told  quite  as  well  as  she.  To  the  little 
pimpernel,  always  ready  to  shut  its  scarlet  flowers  at 
the  slightest  shadow  of  a  cloud,  she  said:  "I  love  you, 
pimpernel,  for  you  're  always  dreaming,  and  that 's 
what  I  like  to  do."  And  so  she  did  dream,  and  with 
the  everlasting  sound  of  the  sea  in  her  ears,  I  wonder 
she  ever  believed  anything  to  be  real ! 


6  THE   SPRAY   SPEITE 

She  was  a  very  happy  little  maid  and  pei'fectly 
content,  but  still  she  could  not  help  longing  to  know 
what  lay  beyond  the  round  horizon  that  hemmed  her 
in  with  the  waves,  and  many  and  many  a  day,  rocking 
in  her  little  boat  on  the  tranquil  water,  she  gazed  at 
the  dim  line  where  the  sky  seemed  to  rest  on  the  sea, 
and  pondered  until  she  was  lost  in  a  maze  of  aimless 
thought. 

"Over  there,  beyond  the  faint  blue  cloud  of  distant 
coast,  lies  the  great  world,"  she  said.  "Is  it  beauti- 
ful there  ? "  Sometimes  at  sunrise  it  looked  most 
beautiful,  flushed  with  delicious  color,  —  purple,  and 
rose,  and  gold.  Vessels  glided  by,  hither  and  thither, 
at  all  times  of  the  day  and  night.  Whence  came  they  ? 
Whither  did  they  go?  If,  in  the  morning  sunshine, 
she  saw  the  shadow  of  one  sail  fall  upon  another,  as 
some  craft  passed  near,  the  sight  made  this  little  savage 
so  happy,  that  it  was  better  than  if  she  had  found  a 
mine  of  gold,  —  the  foolish  thing  to  be  happy  at  a 
shadow ! 

She  laughed  and  talked  with  the  loons,  and  learned 
to  imitate  their  weird  wild  cry ;  she  stretched  her  arms 
up  to  the  big  burgomaster  gull  flying  over,  crying, 
"Take  me  to  ride  with  you,  burgomaster,  between 
your  broad  wings ! "  Driftwood  came  sailing  to  the 
shore,  bits  of  bark,  —  on  what  tree  did  they  grow  ?  she 
wondered.  Pieces  of  oars,  —  who  had  paddled  with 
them?  Laths,  sticks,  straws,  blocks,  logs,  branches, 


THE    SPKAY    SPRITE  7 

cones,  tangled  with  ribbon-grass  kelp  and  rock-weed, 
—  each  thing  had  a  history  if  she  did  but  know  it, 
she  thought.  Sometimes  came  a  green  fir  bough; 
there  was  a  wonder,  for  no  trees  grew  among  her 
rocks,  there  was  not  soil  enough  to  hold  their  roots. 
Sometimes  she  came  upon  tokens  of  wreck  and  disaster 
that  made  her  heart  shrink,  for  she  did  not  like  to 
think  that  pain  was  in  this  lovely  world  wherein  she 
was  so  glad  to  be  alive. 

But  she  always  fancied  she  should  find  some  strange 
and  costly  thing  as  she  sought  among  the  weeds  and 
drift,  —  that  some  mysterious  and  beautiful  thing 
would  come  floating  across  the  sea  for  her,  among  the 
odds  and  ends,  one  day,  and  something  did  come,  as 
you  shall  hear. 

One  night  she  was  playing  on  the  beach  alone;  she 
gathered  shells  and  seaweeds;  full  of  joy,  she  laughed 
and  sang  to  herself.  It  was  high  tide  and  sunset;  all 
the  west  was  red  and  clear;  a  golden  glory  lay  along 
the  calm  water  from  the  sinking  sun  to  her  feet,  as  she 
stood  at  the  edge  of  the  tide.  Near  by,  the  lighthouse 
began  to  twinkle  in  crimson  and  gold;  far  off,  large 
vessels,  with  their  sails  full  of  the  twilight,  passed  by, 
silent  and  slow.  The  waves  made  a  continual  talking 
among  themselves,  and  sweet  and  disconsolate  came 
the  cry  of  the  sandpipers  along  the  shore.  All  else 
was  very  still.  She  stopped  her  play  and  sat  down 
on  a  rock,  and  let  her  bare  feet  drop  within  reach  of 


8  THE   SPRAY   SPRITE 

the  water,  while  she  watched  the  gulls  slowly  floating 
home,  by  twos  and  threes,  through  the  lovely  evening 
sky.  She  smiled  to  see  them  beat  the  air  with  their 
wide  wings,  with  a  slow  and  measured  motion.  She 
knew  where  their  lonesome  rock  lay,  far  out  on  the 
eastern  sea. 

By  and  by  all  were  gone;  the  red  faded,  but  a  pure 
and  peaceful  light  still  held  the  west,  and  the  stars 
came  out  one  after  one.  She  sat  still  there  a  long 
time;  the  warm  wind  wrapped  her  close,  she  felt  no 
chill  with  the  falling  dew.  Wistfully  peering  out 
toward  the  horizon-line,  she  did  not  for  some  time 
notice  that  the  sea  was  full  of  cool  fire,  "sparks  that 
snap  and  burst  and  flee ; "  every  wave  left  its  outline 
in  vanishing  gold  on  the  wet  weeds  and  sand;  her  feet 
were  covered;  it  was  as  if  she  had  on  golden-spangled 
slippers.  That  was  charming!  The  tide  had  begun 
to  fall  now,  and  left  bare  a  gray  rock  worn  and  pol- 
ished by  the  waves  —  heaven  knows  how  many  thou- 
sands of  years !  —  till  it  was  as  smooth  as  satin.  She 
laid  her  cheek  against  it,  the  dear  old  gray  rock!  it 
was  her  pet  pillow.  Though  the  water  had  just 
flowed  over  it,  it  was  warm  yet  from  the  sun  which 
had  blazed  down  all  the  long  clear  summer  day.  Then 
she  watched  the  pale  flame  glowing,  and  fading,  and 
glowing  again,  till —  Well,  I  never  could  be  quite 
sure  how  much  of  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  she 
dreamed,  and  how  much  really  happened,  but  the  main 
points  are  certainly  true. 


THE   SPRAY   SPRITE  9 

After  she  had  been  watching  and  listening  awhile, 
she  became  aware  of  an  unaccustomed  sound  among 
the  noises  of  the  washing  tide  and  whispers  of  the 
wind.  Presently  she  perceived,  between  the  tide- 
mark  and  the  ebbing  water,  two  dim,  slender  figures 
busy  among  the  weeds,  and  sweet,  clear  voices  reached 
her  with  a  merry  mingling  of  talk  and  laughter.  The 
figures  drew  near,  —  a  youth,  dark  and  brilliant,  a 
maiden,  bright  and  fair.  They  were  filling  little  bas- 
kets with  the  phosphorescent  sparks,  and  every  spark 
they  touched  became  a  permanent  star,  so  that  the 
little  baskets  were  overflowing  with  the  harmless  flame. 
She  could  not  comprehend  their  talk,  but  she  watched 
them  eagerly.  The  youth  dipped  his  finger  into  the 
pale  fire,  and  touched  with  it  the  girl's  white  forehead, 
and  left  there  a  spark  that  flickered  upward,  then 
brightened  and  stood  steady,  a  glittering  star,  so  beauti- 
ful above  her  dusky  hair !  And  the  child  saw  the  fairy 
maiden  blush  as  she  swung  the  basket  lightly  to  her 
shoulder.  She  rose  up  as  they  turned,  and  confronted 
them,  and  both  sprang  toward  her.  "Child  of  the 
spray, "  they  cried,  "  it  is  thyself  we  came  to  seek ; " 
and  grasping  her  hands,  they  drew  her  gently  after 
them  into  a  small,  lonely  cove,  where  the  water  lay 
like  a  mirror,  with  all  the  stars  in  heaven  shining  out 
of  it. 

And  by  the  starlight  what  an  enchanting  sight  she 
saw!  Moored  close  to  the  beach,  a  fairy  fleet  was 


10  THE   SPRAY   SPRITE 

waiting  motionless,  —  seven  great  purple  mussel-shells 
as  large  as  her  own  little  skiff,  each  lined  with  mother- 
of-pearl,  and  strewn  with  silken  cushions;  in  each  a 
tapering  mast,  from  which  drooped  lightly  down  the 
idle  sail,  shining  like  silver,  bright  as  if  woven  of 
thistle-down.  And  at  each  curling  prow  was  set  a 
cluster  of  phosphorescent  stars,  gleaming  and  never 
disappearing,  and  every  boat  had  its  merry  crew  of 
fairy  creatures,  and  in  the  midst,  alone  in  his  skiff, 
sat  a  fairy  prince  with  a  golden  crown.  When  they 
saw  their  comrades  bringing  the  spray  child,  they  set 
up  a  sweet  outcry,  and  pushed  the  boats  ashore  with 
slender  oars,  and  leaped  out  and  danced  about  her. 
Was  she  awake  or  asleep  ?  The  tide  had  fallen  farther 
yet.  A  large  purple  starfish  glided  on  the  sand  and 
paused  close  by.  Many-hued  little  shells  crept  near 
and  listened,  and  pearly  Eolis,  from  a  crystal  pool  at 
hand,  lifted  her  crested  head  to  listen  also.  The  child 
rubbed  her  eyes,  and  looked  about  on  every  side,  — 
the  sand  was  real  beneath  her  feet,  the  familiar  sound 
of  the  water  was  surely  in  her  ears,  there  were  the 
stars  above  burning  steadily.  She  was  awake,  she 
thought,  though  it  was  night;  but  when  she  looked  at 
the  fairy  prince,  she  thought  it  was  sunrise  suddenly. 
He  came  near  and  took  her  hand,  and  as  he  did  so  all 
the  sandpipers  cried  aloud  in  their  dreams,  and  made 
their  playmate  tremble  with  mournful  foreboding. 
"Come,"  he  said,  "I  have  sailed  across  the  sea,  to 


THE   SPRAY   SPRITE  11 

show  you  what  lies  beyond  the  wonderful  horizon. 
Come  with  me ; "  and  without  knowing  how,  she  was 
sitting  in  the  beautiful  boat  by  his  side,  and  all  the 
fairy  creatures  were  busy  casting  off  the  ropes,  and 
trimming  the  sails,  with  song  and  shout,  and  as  swiftly 
those  shimmering  sails  ran  up  to  the  tops  of  the  deli- 
cate masts,  the  south  wind  filled  them;  sudden  wafts 
of  music,  fine  and  sweet,  rose  and  fell,  and  out  of  the 
little  cove  swept  the  fleet  of  shells,  rustling  canvas, 
gleaming  stars,  and  brilliant  faces,  and  all.  Rapidly 
they  passed  from  sight,  and  then  on  the  lonely  beach 
the  sandpipers  cried  more  disconsolately,  and  the  waves 
broke  ever  with  a  lonelier  sound,  for  nevermore  came 
that  little  spray  sprite  back  to  play  with  them  again. 

What  became  of  her?  Well,  that  I  will  tell  you 
also.  At  first,  she  was  listening  to  such  a  wonderful 
story  that  she  quite  forgot  everything  else;  but,  as 
they  sailed  and  sailed,  one  by  one  the  fairy  crews  dis- 
appeared, and  still  little  Idleness  and  the  fairy  prince 
sailed  on  and  on,  till  at  last  they  came  to  the  great 
world  which  had,  looked  so  beautiful  to  the  child's 
eyes  from  afar,  —  all  gold,  and  pearl,  and  rose-color. 
And  of  what  do  you  think  she  found  it  was  made, 
after  all?  Why,  my  dear  children,  only  patchwork! 
Everybody  was  doing  patchwork  of  one  kind  or  an- 
other, —  black  patches  and  white,  blue  patches  and 
gray,  —  and  everybody  was  so  busy  that  it  was  aston- 
ishing to  witness.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  every- 


12  THE  SPRAY   SPRITE 

body  was  sewing  with  needle  and  thread,  but  all  were 
at  work  upon  something;  and  she  comprehended  that 
while  she  had  been  dancing  in  the  spray,  wiser  chil- 
dren had  been  learning  all  kinds  of  useful  things,  of 
which  she  knew  nothing  at  all,  and  how  much  time 
she  had  lost! 

At  first  it  was  wearisome  enough,  —  like  living  in 
a  big  ant-hill,  with  all  the  ants  rushing  about  pell- 
mell.  And  then  all  the  trees,  hills,  and  fields  seemed 
to  be  crowding  up  to  the  windows  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  smothering  the  poor  mermaid.  There  was  n't 
half  enough  sky,  and  no  water  at  all,  to  speak  of;  and 
everything  was  so  stiff  and  still,  except  the  hurrying 
people.  The  trees  waved,  but  they  could  n't  go  sweep- 
ing off  as  the  grand  ships  did  over  the  sea,  and  as  for 
the  fields,  they  were  well  enough,  but  altogether  too 
still ;  they  never  changed  about  like '  the  shifting, 
musical,  many-colored  sea.  And  yet  some  of  them 
were  lovely,  when  the  wind  bowed  all  the  tall  white 
daisies  toward  her,  like  the  crest  of  a  breaking  wave; 
better  so  than  when  they  blushed  with  clover-bloom, 
or  flamed  in  buttercups  and  dandelions.  The  brooks 
and  rivers  were  good  as  far  as  they  went,  but  there 
was  so  little  of  them !  And  if  she  liked  the  hills,  it 
was  because  they  seemed  to  her  like  huge,  petrified 
waves,  heaved  solemnly  against  the  sky.  Alas  for  her 
great  horizon !  She  pined  for  it  night  and  day. 

But  gradually  she  began  to  get  used  to  the  tame 


THE   SPRAY   SPRITE  13 

life,  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  she  found  out  a  secret 
worth  all  the  beauty  she  had  lost.  As  young  people 
don't  know  it  generally,  I  '11  whisper  it  in  your  ear. 
This  is  it:  that  work  is  among  the  best  blessings  God 
gave  the  world;  that  to  be  useful  and  helpful,  even  in 
the  smallest  ways,  brings  a  better  bliss  than  all  the 
delightful  things  you  can  think  of,  put  together.  And 
this  bliss  is  within  the  reach  of  every  human  being. 
She  was  glad  when  she  found  it  out  for  herself.  And 
so  now  she  does  patchwork,  to  the  end  of  her  days,  — 
patchwork  in  this  case  meaning  all  kinds  of  work 
under  the  sun,  a  little  here,  and  a  little  there.  You 
would  never  know  now  that  she  had  been  a  spray  sprite, 
and  danced  among  the  breakers,  and  talked  and  laughed 
with  the  loons,  for  she  is  like  everybody  else,  except 
that,  sleeping  or  waking,  year  after  year,  she  keeps 
in  her  ears  the  sad,  mysterious  murmur  of  the  sea, 
just  like  a  hollow  shell. 


MADAME   ABACHNE 

MADAME  ARACHNE  sat  in  the  sun  at  her  door. 
From  a  spider's  point  of  view  she  would  have  been 
considered  a  plump  and  pleasing  person,  but  from  a 
human  standpoint  she  had,  perhaps,  more  legs  than  are 
necessary  to  our  ideal  of  beauty ;  and  as  for  the  matter 
of  eyes,  she  was  simply  extravagant,  having  so  many 
pairs  she  could  see  all  round  the  horizon  at  once.  She 
had  built  her  house  across  the  pane  of  a  window  in  a 
lighthouse,  and  sat  at  her  door,  in  all  the  pride  of 
patiently  awaiting  flies.  The  wind  from  the  south 
breathed  upon  her  pretty  web,  and  rocked  her  to  and 
fro.  Many  tiny  midges,  small  as  pinheads,  flickered 
and  fluttered  and  stuck  to  the  web.  But  Madame 
Arachne  did 'not  stir  for  them. 

"Bah!  "  she  said;  "such  small  fry!  Why  can't  a 
fly  of  proper  size  come  this  way  ? " 

The  sea  made  a  great  roaring  on  the  rocks  below, 
the  sun  shone,  it  was  a  lovely  day.  She  was  very 
content,  but  a  little  hungry.  Suddenly  a  curious  small 
cry  or  call  startled  her;  it  sounded  as  if  some  one  said, 
"Yank,  yank,  yank!"  "My  goodness!"  cried  she; 
"what  can  that  be?" 


MADAME   ARACHNE  15 

Then  was  heard  a  sharp  tapping,  which  shook  her 
with  terror  much  more  than  the  breeze  had  shaken  her. 

She  started  as  if  to  run,  when  "  Yank,  yank,  yank ! " 
sounded  again,  this  time  close  above  her.  She  was 
not  obliged  to  turn  her  head;  having  so  many  eyes, 
she  saw,  reaching  over  the  top  of  the  window,  a  sharp 
black  beak  and  two  round  black  eyes  belonging  to  Mr. 
Nuthatch,  who  also  was  seeking  his  supper,  wood- 
pecker fashion,  and  purposed  to  himself  to  take  poor 
Mrs.  Arachne  for  a  tidbit.  There  was  barely  time  for 
her  to  save  her  life.  She  precipitated  herself  from 
her  door  by  a  rope  which  she  always  carried  with  her. 
Down,  down,  down  she  went,  till  at  last  she  reached 
the  rock  below;  but  Nuthatch  saw,  and  swept  down 
after  her.  Her  many  legs  now  served  a  good  purpose, 
—  she  scampered  like  mad  over  the  rough  surface,  and 
crept  under  the  shingles  that  lapped  over  at  the  edge 
where  the  foot  of  the  lighthouse  met  the  rock,  —  and 
was  safe.  Nuthatch  couldn't  squeeze  in  after  her; 
he  probed  the  crack  with  his  sharp  beak,  but  did  not 
reach  her;  so  he  flew  away  to  seek  an  easier  prey. 
After  a  while,  poor  Madame  Arachne  crept  out  again, 
and  climbed  to  her  window,  looking  all  about  with 
her  numerous  eyes  while  she  swung.  "Ugh!  —  the 
ugly  monster ! "  she  whispered  to  herself,  as  she 
reached  the  pane  where  her  pretty  house  had  been 
built,  —  no  vestige  of  it  was  left.  He  had  fluttered 
about  in  every  corner  of  the  window,  and  with  wings 


16  MADAME   ARACHNE 

and  feet  had  torn  the  slight  web  all  to  pieces.  Pa- 
tiently Madame  Arachne  toiled  to  make  a  new  one; 
and,  by  the  time  the  sun  had  set,  it  was  all  finished, 
and  swinging  in  the  breeze  as  its  predecessor  had 
done.  And  now  a  kind  fate  sent  the  hungry  web-spin- 
ner her  supper.  A  big,  blustering  blue-bottle  fly  came 
blundering  against  the  glass.  Presto !  Like  a  flash, 
Madame  had  pounced  on  him,  with  terrible  dexterity 
had  grabbed  him  and  bound  him  hand  and  foot. 
Then  she  proceeded  to  eat  him  at  her  leisure.  Fate 
was  kind  to  the  spider; 'but  alas,  for  that  too  trustful 
fly !  Presently  she  sought  the  centre  of  her  web  and 
put  herself  in  position  for  the  night.  I  suppose  she 
wasn't  troubled  with  a  great  deal  of  brains;  so  it 
didn't  matter  that  she  went  to  sleep  upside-down! 
She  was  still  a  little  agitated  by  the  visit  of  Mr.  Nut- 
hatch, but  she  knew  he  must  have  gone  to  roost  some- 
where, and  so  composed  herself  for  slumber. 

Ah,  how  sweet  was  the  warm  wind  breathing  from 
the  sea;  how  softly  the  warm  blush  of  the  sunset  lay 
on  rock,  and  wave,  and  cloud!  She  heard  a  noise 
within  the  lighthouse,  —  it  was  the  keeper  lighting 
the  lamps  in  the  tower;  she  heard  a  clear  note  from 
the  sandpiper  haunting  the  shore  below.  "He  does  n't 
eat  spiders,"  said  she;  "there  is  some  sense  in  a  bird 
like  that!  He  eats  snails  and  sand-hoppers,  who  are 
of  no  account.  One  can  respect  a  bird  like  that ! " 
The  balmy  summer  night  came  down,  with  its  treas- 


MADAME   ARACHNE  17 

ures  of  dew  and  sweetness,  and  wrapped  the  whole 
world  in  dreams.  Toward  morning,  a  little  mist  stole 
in  from  the  far  sea-line,  a  light  and  delicate  fog.  The 
lighthouse  sent  long  rays  out  into  it  through  the 
upper  air,  like  the  great  spokes  of  some  huge  wheel 
that  turned  and  turned  aloft  without  a  sound.  The 
moisture  clung  to  the  new-made  web.  "Bless  me," 
cried  Madame  Arachne,  looking  out,  "a  sea-turn,  all 
of  a  sudden!  I  hope  I  sha'n't  catch  a  rheumatism 
in  my  knees. "  Poor  thing !  As  she  had  eight  legs, 
and  two  knees  to  each  leg,  it  would  have  been  a  serious 
matter  indeed! 

At  that  moment,  there  came  a  little  stifled  cry,  and 
a  thump  against  the  glass  of  the  lantern  high  above 
her,  and  then  a  fluttering  through  the  air,  and  a  thud 
on  the  rock  beneath.  What  was  happening  now? 
She  shuddered  with  fright,  but  dared  not  move.  She 
could  not  go  to  sleep  again ;  but  it  was  almost  morn- 
ing. 

At  last  the  pink  dawn  flushed  the  east,  the  light 
mist  stole  away  with  silent  footsteps,  and  left  the  fair 
day  crystal-clear.  Arachne  still  clung  to  her  web, 
which  was  beaded  with  diamonds  left  by  the  mist. 
She  did  not  know  that  Lord  Tennyson  had  written 
about  such  a  web  as  hers  in  a  way  never  to  be  forgotten. 
He  was  talking  about  peace  and  war,  and  he  said :  — 

"  The  cobweb  woven  across  the  cannon's  throat 
Shall  shake  its  threaded  tears  in  the  wind  no  more." 


18  MADAME   ARACHNE 

Her  web  was  only  woven  across  a  window-pane  from 

sash  to  sash,   but  it  shook  its  threaded  tears  in  the 

wind,    that  morning  of  late  summer,    and  was  very 

beautiful  to  see;  but  not  so  beautiful  as  the  poet's 

thought. 

She  wondered  what  could  have  happened,  —  what 
the  sound  could  have  been,  which  had  frightened  her 
in  the  night.  She  crept  to  the  edge  of  the  window- 
ledge  and  looked  down,  —  'twas  too  far,  she  could  not 
see.  By  her  convenient  rope,  she  swung  herself  down 
to  the  rock,  and  was  startled  at  what  she  beheld. 
There  lay  her  enemy,  Nuthatch,  stone-dead,  with  his 
pretty  feathers  all  rumpled,  in  a  pitiful  plight  indeed. 
He  had  seen  the  long  ray  from  the  lighthouse  top 
and,  dazzled,  had  flown  toward  it,  taking  it  for  sun- 
rise, followed  it  with  a  rush,  and  struck  his  head 
against  the  clear  and  cruel  glass.  That  was  the  end  of 
poor  Nuthatch ! 

"  Well,  well !  "  cried  Madame  Arachne,  "  upon  my 
word,  I'm  glad  you're  dead!  Now  I  needn't  be 
afraid  of  you.  But  what  a  silly  thing!  That 's  what 
all  creatures  do  who  have  wings;  —  they  flutter  and 
flutter  around  a  light  till  they  are  banged  or  burned  to 
death.  Better  have  nothing  but  legs.  Who  would 
want  wings  ?  Not  I !  No  sensible  person  would. " 

Such  is  spider  wisdom. 

She  climbed  her  rope,  hand  over  hand,  and  reached 
her  airy  dwelling.  There  she  proceeded  to  bestir  her- 


MADAME   ARACHNE  19 

self  in  the  early  morning.  High  in  a  corner  chamber 
she  wove  a  silken  cocoon,  white  and  satin-smooth,  a 
shining  cradle,  snug  and  warm;  and  in  it  laid  several 
hundred  tiny  round  eggs  of  dusky  pink,  and  left  them 
there  to  hatch  when  they  should  be  ready.  Then  she 
went  down  to  her  seat  in  the  middle  of  her  web,  and 
watched  the  weather  and  hoped  for  flies. 

She  saw  white  sails  on  the  sea,  she  saw  white  gulls 
in  the  air,  she  saw  white  foam  on  the  rocks,  as  she 
sat  in  the  sun.  Days  came,  nights  passed,  winds 
blew,  rains  fell,  mists  crept  in  and  out,  and  still  she 
watched  for  flies,  with  more  or  less  success;  till  at  last 
out  crawled  a  baby-spider  to  the  air,  and  another,  and 
another,  —  so  small  they  were  hardly  to  be  seen,  —  till 
nearly  all  the  eggs  were  hatched.  They  stretched 
their  tiny  legs,  cramped  from  long  confinement;  they 
crept  hither  and  thither,  and  wondered  at  the  big 
world  —  of  one  window-pane ! 

"Good-morning,  my  dears,"  said  Madame  Arachne, 
"  I  hope  I  see  you  well !  " 

Every  day,  from  the  inside  of  the  lighthouse,  three 
pairs  of  childish  eyes  watched  this  interesting  spider 
family.  As  the  tiny  ones  grew  larger,  they  began  to 
build  for  themselves  little  webs  in  each  corner  of  every 
pane;  and  each  small  dot  of  a  spider  put  itself  in  the 
middle  of  its  web,  head  downward,  like  the  mother, 
and  they  all  swung  in  the  breeze  and  caught  midges, 
—  which  were  quite  big  enough  for  them. 


20  MADAME   ARACHNE 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  comical?"  said  one 
child  to  another.  "They  all  behave  just  like  their 
mother.  How  quickly  they  learn  how  to  live  after 
they  creep  out  of  that  little  egg,  which  is  so  small  we 
hardly  can  see  it!  How  closely  all  those  long  legs 
must  be  folded  up  in  such  a  tiny  space !  I  wonder  if 
all  insects  know  so  much  as  soon  as  they  are  hatched !  " 
"  Insects !  "  said  the  older  child,  "  but  a  spider  is  n't 
an  insect  at  all !  Don't  you  remember  how  papa  read 
to  us  once  that  spiders  belong  to  the  Scorpion  family  ?  " 
"Oh,  a  scorpion  must  be  a  horrid  thing!  "  cried  the 
younger, — "a.  real  scorpion!  I'm  glad  they  don't 
live  in  this  country.  I  like  the  spiders;  they  spin 
such  pretty  webs,  and  it 's  such  fun  to  watch  them. 
They  won't  hurt  you  if  you  don't  trouble  them;  will 
they,  sister?" 

"Of  course  they  won't,"  said  the  little  girl's  reas- 
suring voice. 

Madame  Arachne  heard  them  discussing  her  and  her 
affairs.  "They  are  good  enough  creatures,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "They  can't  spin  webs,  to  be  sure,  poor 
things!  But  then  these  three,  at  least,  don't  destroy 
them  as  that  odious  Nuthatch  did.  They  seem  quite 
harmless  and  friendly,  and  I  have  no  objection  to 
them  —  not  the  least."  So  the  little  spiders  grew  and 
grew  and  spun  many  and  many  a  filmy  web  about  the 
old  white  lighthouse  for  many  happy  days. 

But  late  in  the  autumn,  a  party  of  merry  birds, 
flying  joyously  through  the  blue  heaven  on  their  way 


MADAME   ARACHNE  21 

south,  alighted  to  rest  on  the  rock.  They  filled  the 
air  with  sweet  calls  and  pretty  twitterings.  Many  of 
them  were  slim  and  delicate  fly-catchers,  exquisitely 
dressed  in  gray  and  black  and  gold  and  flame.  Alas 
for  every  creeping  thing!  Snip!  snap!  went  all  the 
sharp  and  shining  beaks,  —  and  where  were  the  spiders 
then?  Into  every  crack  and  cranny  the  needlelike 
beaks  were  thrust;  and  when  the  birds  flitted  away, 
after  a  most  sumptuous  lunch,  not  a  spider  was  visible 
anywhere.  It  was  one  grand  massacre,  —  yet  again 
Madame  saved  herself,  behind  a  friendly  shingle;  and 
some  days  afterward  the  children  saw  her  crawling  dis- 
consolately about  her  estate  in  the  lighthouse  window. 

But  the  little  island  soon  had  another  visitor  in  the 
shape  of  Jack  Frost,  Esq.,  who  came  capering  over 
the  dancing  brine,  and  gave  our  poor  friend  so  many 
pinches  that  she  could  only  crawl  into  the  snuggest 
corner  and  roll  herself  up  to  wait  till  the  blustering 
fellow  should  take  his  departure. 

"She's  quite  gone,"  said  one  of  the  children,  as 
they  looked  for  her  one  crackling  cold  day. 

"  Never  mind, "  said  the  eldest.  "  Spring  will  wake 
her  up  and  call  her  out  again." 

And  so  it  did. 

Now,  would  you  like  to  know  how  I  happen  to  have 
found  out  about  Madame  Arachne  and  her  adventures? 
I  will  tell  you,  dear  children.  I  was  one  of  the  little 
folk  who  watched  through  the  old  lighthouse  window 
and  saw  them  all. 


CAT'S-CRADLE 

"  0  COSETTE,  you  are  the  dearest  kitty !  "  And 
little  Max,  who  spoke,  laid  his  golden  head  against 
the  soft  fur  of  the  big  Maltese  cat,  and  hugged  her 
tight  with  both  arms. 

A  gypsy  fire  of  light  driftwood  sticks  was  sparkling 
and  crackling  on  the  hearth;  the  children  were  gath- 
ered about  it,  Robert  and  Rose,  Lettice,  Elinor,  and 
little  Max.  The  rain  was  falling  merrily  on  the  roof 
of  the  low,  brown  cottage  where  they  had  come  to  live 
for  the  summer.  Mamma,  with  her  work,  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  near. 

"  Well,  how  it  does  pour ! "  said  Letty,  going  to 
the  window.  The  rest  followed  her,  and  stood  look- 
ing out.  They  saw  the  gray  sea,  calm  and  silvery, 
slowly  rolling  toward  the  gray  sand,  breaking  in  long, 
lazy  lines  of  white  foam  at  the  edge  of  the  beach.  A 
few  small  boats  were  moored  near;  to  the  left,  not  far 
away,  a  cluster  of  fish-houses,  old  and  storm-worn, 
their  roofs  spotted  with  yellow  lichens,  stood  on  the 
shore.  There  were  no  sails  in  sight,  — only  dim  sea, 
dim  sky,  and  pouring  rain. 

"We  can't  go  out  to-day  at  all! "  said  Rose. 


CAT'S-CRADLE  23 

"Not  all  the  long  day?"  questioned  Max  wistfully. 

"Oh,  perhaps  it  will  clear  off  by  and  by,"  Elinor, 
the  elder,  said.  "Who  knows?  Never  mind  if  it 
doesn't,  we  can  have  a  good  time  in  the  house;  can't 
we,  Bob?" 

"Yes,  we  can!"  Rob  cried.  "I'm  going  to  make 
boats  for  us  all,  a  whole  fleet!  Won't  that  be  a  good 
thing,  mamma?  And  then,  as  soon  as  it  clears  off, 
we  '11  launch  them  and  send  them  off  to  Spain.  You 
find  some  stiff  white  paper,  girls.  Mamma  will  give 
us  some;  I  '11  go  out  to  the  shed  for  lumber  to  build 
my  ships,"  and  away  he  went.  Mamma  provided 
scissors  and  paper.  Elinor  turned  back  the  rug  to 
make  a  place  for  Rob  to  whittle ;  presently  he  returned 
with  a  basket  of  driftwood,  bits  of  many  sizes  and 
shapes,  some  worn  smooth  as  satin  by  the  touches  of 
millions  of  waves,  having  floated  on  the  ocean,  Heaven 
alone  knows  how  long. 

"Now,  isn't  this  fun!"  he  said,  as  they  all  sat 
together  round  the  basket,  Rose  and  Lettice  with  the 
scissors  shaping  sails  under  his  direction,  while  he 
proceeded  to  turn  out  of  his  pocket  the  fifty  things, 
more  or  less,  that  go  to  make  up  the  freight  a  boy 
generally  carries;  of  course,  the  knife,  being  heaviest, 
was  at  the  bottom.  A  roll  of  stout,  brown  twine 
caught  Max's  eye. 

"Please,  Rob,  let  me  have  it  to  play  with,  for  reins 
to  drive  Rose,"  he  begged;  so  Rob  tossed  it  over  to 
him  where  he  sat  curled  up  with  his  kitty. 


24  CAT'S-CKADLE 

"There  it  is,  Maxie!  Now,  let's  begin  to  name 
our  boats,  girls.  I'm  going  to  call  mine  the  'Em- 
peror,' 'cause  it 's  going  to  lead  the  fleet!  " 

"Mine  shall  be  the  '  Butterfly,'  »  said  Kose. 

"  That 's  good !     What  for  yours,  Letty  ?  " 

"I  think  the  '  Kittiwake  '  will  be  a  good  name  for 
mine." 

"Yes,  that  will  do.  And  what  shall  yours  be, 
Nelly?" 

"  Oh,  the  '  Albatross, '  because  he  flies  so  fast  with- 
out moving  his  wings !  " 

"That's  fine!  Now,  Max,  what  are  you  going  to 
call  your  boat  1 " 

Max  was  turning  over  the  bits  of  wood  in  the 
basket.  Inside  the  edge  he  had  just  found  a  brown, 
woolly  caterpillar.  "Oh,"  he  cried.  "See!  A  pil- 
low cat !  A  pillow  cat !  " 

"You  mean  a  caterpillar,  dear,"  said  Letty. 

"Do  let  him  call  it  a  pillow  cat,  Letty  dear,"  said 
mamma;  "he  isn't  much  more  than  my  baby  yet,  you 
know." 

"But  you  don't  want  your  ship  called  the  'Pillow 
Cat, '  do  you,  Max  ?  "  asked  Eob.  They  all  laughed, 
tried  this  name  and  that,  but  nothing  seemed  to  suit 
Max,  who  said  "No"  to  everything;  so  they  left  it 
to  be  decided  afterward.  They  watched  their  ship- 
builder with  great  pride  and  interest,  but  after  a  while 
they  grew  tired. 


CAT'S-CRADLE  25 

"Let's  play  cat's-cradle  with  Max's  string,"  Rose 
said  to  Letty  at  last,  and  they  proceeded  to  try;  but 
Rose  did  not  know  how,  and  Letty  only  half  remem- 
bered, so  they  appealed  to  Rob. 

"Do  please  leave  off  whittling  a  minute  and  show 
us  how,  Rob." 

Being  a  good-natured  brother,  he  threw  down  his 
knife  and  stood  up  before  Letty  while  he  showed  her 
the  ins  and  outs  of  the  complicated  web.  Very  soon 
she  learned  how  to  make  it,  then  taught  Rose,  and 
they  amused  themselves  for  some  time  while  Rob 
worked  away,  and  Max  played  with  his  dear  kitty, 
and  mamma  and  Elinor  were  sewing  and  talking 
together.  Soon  as  the  "  Butterfly  "  was  finished,  the 
girls  rigged  her  with  the  square  white  paper  sails,  and 
she  was  "  stowed  "  (as  Bob  nautically  expressed  it)  on 
the  mantelpiece,  for  safety.  Then  the  "Emperor  "  was 
begun,  but  before  it  was  half  done,  lunch  was  ready; 
still  it  rained,  perpendicularly  pouring.  Papa  had 
been  busy  in  the  study  all  the  morning,  but  after 
lunch  he  sat  with  the  children,  taking  Max  upon  his 
knee. 

"I  '11  begin  Max's  boat,"  he  said.  "Now,  mamma, 
won't  you  tell  us  a  story?  We  can  work  so  much 
faster,  you  know." 

"Elinor  is  the  story-teller  of  the  family,"  mamma 
replied.  "Let  her  try."  So  Elinor  began.  Rose 
curled  up  on  the  rug,  Letty  held  Cosette,  Max  laid 


26  CAT'S-CRADLE 

his  pretty  head  against  papa's  shoulder,  and  all  watched 
the  whittling  while  they  listened  to  Elinor. 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  she  began,  and  her  pleasant 
voice  went  on  and  on;  the  rain  pattered  gently  and 
steadily ;  the  long  surf  whispered  with  a  soft,  hushing 
sound,  and  presently,  before  they  knew  it,  Max  was 
sound  asleep.  Papa  laid  him  among  the  cushions  by 
mamma's  side  and  went  back  to  his  books;  then  they 
found  Kose  had  fallen  sound  asleep  too.  But  the  rain 
went  on,  and  the  story,  and  the  whispering  rush  of 
the  water,  till  suddenly  Kose  laughed  out  in  her  sleep 
so  loud  that  she  waked,  sat  up,  rubbed  her  eyes,  and 
then  began  to  laugh  again. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Kosy?  "  they  asked  her. 

"Oh,  such  a  funny  dream,"  she  said.  "Such  a 
queer  dream.  I  thought  I  was  standing  down  by  the 
marsh  where  the  cat-o'-nine- tails  grow,  you  know;  — 
the  moon  was  just  coming  up  over  the  water,  yellow, 
and  big,  and  round,  and  I  thought  it  had  such  a  funny 
face  with  two  eyes  that  kept  blinking  and  winking, 
first  at  me  and  then  at  the  tall  reeds;  and  suddenly  I 
heard  a  rustling,  and  up  the  long  stalks  I  saw  a  gray 
mother-cat  climbing,  and  after  her  five  little  gray  kit- 
tens, —  oh,  so  pretty  and  so  tiny.  They  had  such 
hard  work  to  climb,  for  the  bending  stalks  were  slip- 
Pery>  —  an<l  they  bent  more  and  more  the  higher  the 
little  cats  climbed;  but  they  kept  on.  One  kitty  out- 
stripped the  rest  and  almost  reached  the  brown,  heavy 


CAT'S-€RADLE  27 

reed-tops,  when  all  at  once  I  saw  that  the  ends  were 
hung  with  little  cradles,  —  real  cradles,  with  real 
rockers,  —  and  the  first  thing  I  knew,  that  foremost 
kitty  had  jumped  in  and  cuddled  down  in  the  nearest 
cradle,  and  there  she  swung,  to  and  fro,  up  and  down 
(for  the  wind  was  blowing,  too),  and  she  looked  so 
pretty  with  her  little  ears  sticking  up  and  her  bright 
eyes  shining,  as  she  watched  the  other  kittens  climb- 
ing after  her,  for  there  was  a  cradle  for  every  one  of 
them  to  rock  in.  Then  when  they  were  all  in,  it  was 
so  comical  I  laughed  aloud,  and  that  woke  me.  But 
I  wish  we  had  the  kits  and  the  cradles  to  play  with 
here!" 

"Cat's-cradle! "  said  Elinor;  "why  wouldn't  that 
be  a  good  name  for  Max's  boat? " 

"Why,  yes,"  they  cried;  "wouldn't  you  like  it, 
Max  ?  Shall  your  boat  be  called  the  '  Cat's-Cradle'  ? " 

"Yes,"  answered  Max,  who  had  waked  and  listened 
with  interest  to  Rose's  dream;  "kitty  shall  go  sail  in 
her,  rock  —  rock  —  on  the  water. "  So  it  was  settled. 

"  Just  look  at  the  sun ! "  cried  Letty,  for  a  great 
glory  suddenly  streamed  in  from  the  west,  where  the 
sun  was  sinking  toward  the  sea,  and  flooded  the  room 
with  gold. 

"Fair  day  to-morrow !"  cried  Rob.  "All  the  fleet 
can  start  for  Spain !  —  '  Cat's-Cradle  '  and  all,  for  that 
is  done,  too ; "  and  he  ranged  the  little  vessels  in  a  row 
on  the  shelf.  Mamma  laughed  to  see  her  mantel 


28  CAT'S-CRADLE 

turned  into  a  shipyard;  and  the  children  went  to  rest 
that  night  full  of  glad  hopes  for  the  morrow. 

The  day  rose  bright  and  fair.  After  breakfast  they 
prepared  to  go  down  to  the  beach  for  their  launch. 

"Let's  man  all  the  boats,"  said  Rob;  "let 'stake 
Max's  Noah's  Ark  and  put  passengers  on  board  every 
one,  out  of  the  Ark." 

"If  Max  is  willing,"  suggested  Elinor. 

"  Are  you,  Max  1 »  asked  Letty.  "  Oh,  yes !  We  '11 
send  Noah  to  Spain  in  the  '  Cat's-Cradle  ' !  That  will 
be  fun!" 

"  Are  you  willing  ?  Yes  1 "  and  away  she  ran  up- 
stairs, and  soon  came  back  with  the  toy  in  her  hand, 
shaking  dogs,  cats,  elephants,  and  rats  together  with 
Noah  and  his  family  in  hopeless  confusion. 

Cosette  was  rubbing  her  head  affectionately  against 
Max's  stout  little  legs. 

"Let's  take  the  kitty,  too;  she  wants  to  go,"  he 
said;  and  out  they  flocked  together,  Cosette  following, 
all  dancing  and  capering  toward  the  low  rocks  where 
the  fish-houses  stood,  to  reach  a  small  pebbly  cove 
beyond,  where  the  water  was  smooth  as  glass.  Old 
Jerry,  the  fisherman,  sat  mending  his  net  on  the 
shore;  he  greeted  them  as  they  went  skipping  by,  each 
with  boat  in  hand. 

"Fine  mornin'  for  your  launch,"  quoth  he;  "wind 
offshore  and  everything  fair." 

"Yes,  they're  all  bound  for  Spain,"  said  Hob  in 
great  glee.  "Do  you  think  they  '11  get  there  to-day? " 


CAT'S-CRADLE  29 

"Shouldn't  wonder,"  answered  Jerry  with  a  smile. 
"You  never  know  what  may  happen  in  this  'ere 
world." 

Max  stood  with  Cosette  in  his  arms,  watching  his 
brother  and  sisters  man  the  fleet. 

"  I  think  Father  Noah  ought  to  sail  in  the  '  Em- 
peror, '  don't  you  1 "  asked  Kob,  "  because  he  must 
lead  the  ships,  you  know.  Shall  he,  Max  ?  Oh,  yes, 
he  's  willing!  Then  Mrs.  Noah  shall  go  in  the  '  Alba- 
tross, '  and  Ham  in  the  '  Kittiwake',  and  Shem  on 
board  the  '  Butterfly; '  and  who  shall  go  in  the  '  Cat's- 
Cradle,'  Max?" 

"I  want  to  go  myself!"  was  Max's  unexpected 
reply. 

"Oh,  you  dear  baby !  don't  you  see  you  're  too  big?  " 
cried  Kose. 

"No  —  boat 's  too  small,"  said  Max.  "Put  Noah's 
kitty  in —  she  's  little  enough." 

"Well,  she  can  go  with  Japhet,"  and  they  sought 
among  the  wooden  beasts  till  Noah's  kitty  was  found; 
then  off  started  the  tiny  vessels  together:  first  the 
"Emperor,"  with  Father  Noah  standing  up  straight 
and  fine  in  the  stern;  then  the  "Albatross,"  with 
Mother  Noah ;  after  them  the  three  other  boats,  their 
stiff  white  sails  shining  in  the  sun  and  taking  the  wind 
bravely.  The  children  watched  them  breathlessly  as 
the  small  ships  lifted  over  the  ripples,  making  their 
way  out  of  the  quiet  cove,  till  they  felt  the  stronger 


30  CAT'S-CRADLE 

wind  and  began  to  sail  rapidly  away.  For  a  while 
they  kept  quite  near  together,  but  at  last  they  strayed 
apart,  though  still  obeying  the  outward-blowing  wind. 

"Look  at  old  Noah,"  cried  Rob,  "standing  up  so 
brave!  Oh,  he  's  a  great  commander!  " 

"  Dear  me,  but  see  Mrs.  Noah !  She  's  fallen  over ! " 
cried  Letty.  "Poor  thing!  She  must  be  frightened." 

"No,  she's  only  dizzy.  There's  so  much  more 
motion  than  there  was  in  the  Ark !  " 

A  long  time  they  stood  watching  till  the  little  white 
sails  were  a  mere  shimmer  on  the  water. 

"When  will  they  come  back?"  asked  Max.  "At 
supper  time  ? " 

"Not  so  soon,  I  'm  afraid,  Max  dear." 

"Well,  to-morrow,  then.  Will  they  come  back 
to-morrow  ? " 

"I  cannot  tell." 

"But  I  want  them  to  come  back,"  the  little  boy 
said,  half  crying.  "  I  want  to  go  and  get  them  and 
bring  them  home." 

"  But,  Max,  it  takes  a  long  time  to  sail  all  the  way 
to  Spain,"  Eose  explained.  "You'll  have  to  wait 
with  patience  till  they  are  ready  to  come  back." 

Max's  lip  curled  grievously.  "I  want  my  boat,  my 
'Cat's-Cradle,'  and  my  Noah,"  he  said. 

"  Now,  Max,  never  mind !  Come  and  see  what  Jerry 
is  doing!  He's  building  a  fire  of  sticks,  and  he's 
going  to  mend  his  boat  with  tar.  Just  come  and  look 
at  him ! " 


CAT'S-CRADLE  31 

They  drew  the  little  brother  away.  For  a  while 
he  was  interested  in  Jerry's  work,  but  soon  his  eyes 
turned  wistfully  again  to  the  water. 

"  I  see  them !  "  he  cried.      "  'Way,  'way  off!  " 

The  others  looked;  they  could  just  see  a  glimmer  of 
white  in  the  blue ;  they  could  not  really  tell  if  it  were 
a  white  gull's  breast  on  the  heaving  brine,  or  their 
flitting  skiffs. 

"Now  let  them  go,  dear  Max!  We'll  get  some 
baskets  and  go  after  berries  up  beyond  the  pasture, 
and  we  '11  find  some  flowers  to  bring  home  to  mamma; 
that  will  be  lovely;  Cosette  shall  come  too; "  and  Max, 
cheered  up,  took  a  hand  of  Hose  and  Letty  and  turned 
from  the  glittering  blue  sea. 

"You  go  on,"  Bob  said;  "Nelly  and  I  will  get  the 
baskets  and  follow  you."  So  the  three  went  up  the 
scented  slope  together,  through  the  sweet-fern  and 
bayberry,  where  here  and  there  a  goldenrod  plume 
was  breaking  into  sunshine  at  the  top,  till  they  reached 
a  big  rock  in  a  grassy  spot,  where  they  stopped  to  wait 
for  the  others.  Cosette  was  put  down  in  the  grass, 
and  ran  off  toward  home  as  fast  as  she  could.  Max's 
grief  came  upon  him  afresh  at  this  second  loss. 

"Now,  don't  fret,  dear,"  cried  Letty.  "Where's 
your  piece  of  string,  sweetheart!  Isn't  it  in  your 
little  pocket?  Feel  and  see;  I'll  show  you  how  to 
make  a  wonderful  knot  Jerry  showed  me." 

Max's  eyes  brightened  as  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for 
the  twine. 


32  CAT'S-CRADLB 

"Now  see,"  said  Letty;  "I  take  two  pieces  so,  and 
I  put  this  end  round  this  way  and  through  that  way, 
and  then  over  so,  and  round  so  ;  then  you  take  these 
two  ends  in  your  hands  and  hold  them  loosely,  and 
Eose  takes  the  other  two  ends,  and  when  I  say, 
'  Now ! '  pull  both  together,  and  see  what  a  tight 
square  knot  it  makes !  Now,  you  try,  Max ! " 

Max  took  the  string  and  the  knot. 

"I  can  untie  it,"  he  said;  and  forthwith  began 
picking  at  it  industriously  with  his  little  fingers  till 
the  ends  began  to  loosen;  he  would  really  have  accom- 
plished the  undoing,  had  not  Elinor  and  Rob  arrived 
with  the  baskets;  then  they  began  picking  berries  in 
earnest. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  had  their  baskets  full. 
They  gathered  early  asters  and  yellow  rudbeckia  for 
mamma,  and  among  the  trees  beyond  the  pasture  they 
found  the  red  wood-lilies  burning  like  beautiful  lamps 
in  the  green  shade.  When  Max  was  tired,  Elinor  and 
Rob  made  a  carriage  for  him,  clasping  each  other's 
wrists  with  their  crossed  hands;  so  he  rode  home  tri- 
umphant; and  they  trooped  in  together,  weary,  rosy, 
and  happy  with  their  treasures. 

"My  boat  sailed  away,  mamma,"  said  Max,  as  they 
sat  at  table. 

"  But  all  our  boats  went  with  it  to  keep  it  company, 
you  know,"  said  Letty. 

"Yes,  but  I  want  to  go  after  it  and  bring  it  home," 


CAT'S-CRADLE  33 

insisted  Max ;  and  again  they  had  to  divert  his  mind 
from  his  loss. 

In  the  afternoon  they  went  down  to  play  on  the 
sands  as  usual,  Max's  nurse,  Molly,  accompanying. 
Jerry's  mended  dory  was  floating  in  the  shallow  cove; 
they  begged  to  be  allowed  to  get  into  it,  "just  for 
fun,"  and  the  old  man  put  them  in,  Cosette  and  all, 
for  kitty  went  with  them  everywhere.  They  put 
Max  in  the  bow  with  his  cat  in  his  lap,  and  rocked 
the  boat  gently  to  and  fro. 

"  Oh,  look  at  the  white  gull ! "  cried  Letty,  as  one 
swept  over  them.  "Look,  Max!  It  is  white  as 
mamma's  day-lilies  in  the  garden!"  But  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  horizon  line,  where  shining  sails 
were  dreaming  far  away  in  the  sunshine. 

"  There  they  are !    They  're  coming  home !  "  he  cried. 

"No,  Maxie;  those  are  bigger  boats  than  ours." 

"  But  where  have  they  gone,  Rose  ?  Let 's  go  after 
them,  now,  in  this  boat.  I  can  untie  the  rope,"  he 
cried,  and  he  began  to  work  on  the  knot  which  fas- 
tened the  boat's  "painter"  to  the  bow.  They  let  him 
work,  since  it  seemed  to  amuse  him  so  much,  but  they 
did  not  notice  that  he  really  made  an  impression  on  the 
large  knot  (which  was  not  fastened  very  firmly)  before 
they  left  the  boat.  When  Jerry  lifted  him  out,  he 
whispered  in  the  old  man's  ear,  "To-morrow,  may  I  go 
in  your  boat  to  find  Noah  and  the  '  Cat's-Cradle'  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  to-night,  if  you  want  to  go,"  said  Jerry. 


34  CAT'S-CRADLE 

"AndCosette,  too?" 

"Sartin!  sartin!"  laughed  Jerry ;  so  Max  was  com- 
forted. "They  're  all  gone,"  he  said  to  Letty,  looking 
out  over  the  sea,  "but  we  are  going  after  them  to 
bring  them  home,  Cosette  and  I." 

"Really,  Max?" 

"Yes,  Jerry  said  so." 

"Jerry  shouldn't  promise,"  Letty  said;  but  she 
did  not  wish  to  grieve  her  little  brother  afresh,  so  she 
let  the  matter  drop. 

Molly  gave  him  his  supper  and  put  him  into  his 
small  white  bed;  tired  and  sleepy,  he  was  soon  in  the 
land  of  dreams. 

The  rest  of  the  family  were  at  dinner.  From  the 
dining-room  windows  they  saAV  the  great  disk  of  the 
full  moon  rising  in  the  violet  east,  while  the  west  was 
yet  glowing  with  sunset.  The  sea  was  full  of  rosy 
reflections;  across  the  waves  fell  the  long  path  of 
scattered  silver  radiance  the  moon  sent  down;  a  warm 
wind  breathed  gently  from  the  land. 

"Oh,  papa,"  said  Elinor,  "let's  go  and  ask  Jerry 
to  take  us  out  sailing  in  the  '  Claribel. '  It  is  so  lovely 
on  the  water !  " 

"Well,  my  dear,  I'm  willing,  but  mamma  doesn't 
like  sailing,  you  know. " 

"I'll  stay  with  mamma.  I  don't  like  sailing, 
either,"  said  Letty.  "We  don't  mind,  do  we, 
mamma  ? " 


CAT'S-CRADLE  35 

"Why,  no,"  said  mamma.  "Do  go!  Letty  and  I 
will  take  a  walk  together.  It  is  much  too  beautiful 
to  stay  indoors." 

So  papa  with  his  little  flock  set  out  for  Jerry  and 
the  "Claribel,"  while  mamma  and  Letty  made  ready 
for  their  walk;  but  before  leaving  the  house  they  went 
into  the  nursery  to  see  that  Max  was  asleep  and  com- 
fortable. 

"We  are  going  out,  Molly,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert  to 
the  nurse.  "Take  good  care  of  Max." 

"  Sure  and  I  always  goes  to  look  at  him  every  little 
while,  ma'am,"  said  Molly. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  do.  Come,  Letty,  are  you 
ready  1 "  and  they  went  out  into  the  fragrant  dusk 
together,  strolling  toward  the  pasture  inland. 

The  boat  meanwhile,  with  its  happy  crew,  had  been 
fanned  away  quite  a  distance  from  the  warm  land. 
A  few  faint  clouds  had  gathered,  which,  floating  slowly 
up  the  sky,  helped  to  deepen  the  balmy  darkness. 
The  brown  cottage  was  left  quite  alone  except  for 
slumbering  Max,  the  servants,  and  Cosette  who  lay 
luxuriously  napping  on  the  parlor  rug.  Presently  she 
woke,  stretched  her  long,  lithe  body,  sat  up,  and 
looked  about.  All  was  dark  and  still.  I  suppose  she 
wondered  where  everybody  was;  at  any  rate,  she  went 
out  of  the  door,  up  the  stairs,  and,  finding  the  nursery 
door  ajar,  —  as  careful  Molly  had  left  it,  so  that  she 
might  hear  Max  if  he  should  call,  —  Cosette  walked 


36  CAT'S-CRADLE 

in,  jumped  up  on  her  little  master's  bed,  and  began 
purring  affectionately  and  rubbing  her  whiskers  against 
Max's  rosy  cheek.  He  half  woke,  and  spoke  out  of 
his  dreams.  "Cosette,"  he  said,  "now  it's  time  to 
go  and  find  Noah  and  all  the  boats,  and  the  '  Cat's, 
Cradle',  and  Noah's  kitty;  isn't  it  time,  Cosette?" 

He  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  The  moon  at  that 
moment  was  clear  and  filled  the  room  with  light. 

"Cosette,"  he  whispered;  "let's  go,  you  and  I,  in 
Jerry's  boat." 

Cosette  purred  and  cuddled  close  to  him.  He 
slipped  out  of  his  low  bed  and  took  the  cat  into  his 
arms.  Molly  was  having  her  tea  downstairs;  no  one 
was  nigh.  His  little  bare  feet  made  no  noise  on  the 
stair;  the  front  door  was  open;  there  was  nothing  to 
hinder  them.  A  few  minutes  more  and  they  were  out 
on  the  sands.  Nobody  saw  the  small  white  figure, 
with  golden  hair  softly  blown  about,  carrying  the  gray 
cat  slowly  down  to  the  water.  They  reached  the  little 
cove  and  Jerry's  dory.  A  battered  log  of  driftwood 
lay  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water.  Max  pushed 
the  cat  before  him  and  climbed  on  this,  and  so  crept 
over  the  edge  of  the  boat  into  the  bow. 

"  I  can  untie  the  rope,  kitty,  I  know  the  way ! " 
and  he  began  to  work  at  the  knot.  It  was  so  loose 
that  he  soon  had  it  untied. 

"Why  don't  we  sail  away?"  said  the  little  boy, 
and  forthwith  began  leaning  from  side  to  side,  rocking 


CAT'S-CRADLE  37 

the  boat  as  he  had  learned  to  do  in  the  afternoon. 
Presently  she  began  to  move  and  slide  off;  the  tide 
was  ebbing,  the  wind  blew  from  the  land,  both  helped 
her  away  till  she  drifted  slowly  out  of  the  cove,  be- 
yond the  rocks  and  out  to  sea.  Max  was  delighted. 
"Noiv,  we  're  going  to  find  them,  kitty!  Now,  we  '11 
bring  them  all  back  to  Letty,  and  Kose,  and  Kob ! " 

The  dory  floated  away  into  the  dark.  Nobody  saw 
it,  nobody  knew.  The  wind  over  the  water  was  cooler 
than  on  shore,  and  Max's  little  nightdress  was  thin. 
He  looked  about  everywhere  over  the  dark  waves,  and 
shivered. 

"Where's  mamma?"  he  said.  " Shall  we  find  the 
boats  soon,  Cosette  ? "  Again  the  light  clouds  sailed 
across  the  moon.  He  shrank  from  the  sight  of  the 
dark  water;  presently  he  slipped  down  into  the  deep 
bow  of  the  boat,  protected  from  the  wind  and  hugging 
the  warm  kitty  fast.  "By  and  by  we  '11  get  to  Noah," 
he  said  drowsily.  The  lulling  sound  of  the  light 
ripples  and  the  rocking  of  the  drifting  dory  soon  sent 
him  into  dreamland  again ;  —  so  they  floated  away  on 
the  wide  sea,  and  no  one  knew  anything  about  it. 

Molly  finished  her  tea,  and  went  to  the  stairs  to 
listen  for  any  sound  that  might  come  from  the  nursery. 
All  was  still. 

"Sure  it's  tired  the  darlin'  do  be,"  she  said, 
"trampin'  round  on  his  two  little  futs  the  long  day! 
He  sleeps  sound  when  he  sleeps  at  all ; "  and  she  went 


38  CAT'S-CRADLE 

back  to  continue  her  chat  with  Betty  the  cook.  She 
stayed  longer  than  she  thought;  it  was  full  half  an 
hour  before  she  crept  upstairs  to  look  at  her  pet.  She 
was  surprised  to  find  the  nursery  door  wide  open. 
Entering  hurriedly,  she  saw  the  little  white  bed  empty 
and  cold.  "  Max !  Max,  darlin' !  where  do  ye  be 
hidin*  from  Molly  1 "  She  ran  from  one  room  to 
another  seeking  him,  calling  till  her  voice  brought  the 
cook  and  the  maid  rushing  upstairs  to  see  what  was 
the  matter.  "He's  gone!"  cried  Molly.  "Mother 
of  Heaven !  he  's  gone ! "  and  she  began  to  wail  and 
cry  like  a  banshee. 

"Stop  your  deavin',  Molly,"  cried  the  frightened 
Betty.  "  Sure  and  it 's  only  downstairs  he  'a  gone. 
We  '11  find  him  below."  They  ran  down.  Here, 
there,  everywhere  over  the  whole  house  they  went; 
not  a  trace  of  him  could  they  find. 

"Oh,  it's  kidnapped  he  is,  sure!  Oh,  what '11  I 
do,  what  '11  I  do ! "  cried  Molly,  and  she  ran  out-of- 
doors  to  meet  Mrs.  Lambert  and  Letty,  who  were 
coming  up  the  path  to  the  house. 

"  Oh,  missis,  have  yez  seen  him  ? "  she  cried,  half 
distracted. 

"Who,  Molly?"  cried  Letty,  and  the  mother's 
heart  stopped  beating  as  the  maid  answered,  — 

"The  baby!  Sure  the  baby's  gone  entirely.  I 
can't  find  him  in  the  whole  house ! " 

"Molly!    are    you   wild?     What   can   you    mean? 


CAT'S-CRADLE  39 

Max  gone  ? "  She  flew  upstairs,  followed  by  Letty, 
dumb  with  fear.  There  was  the  little  empty  bed, 
with  a  dimple  in  the  pillow  where  the  golden  head 
had  lain.  Pale  with  anxiety,  they  sought  him  every- 
where, at  last  ran  out  of  the  house  and  up  and  down 
the  sands,  but  never  a  sign  of  Max  or  Cosette  could 
they  find. 

Meanwhile,  Jerry's  whaleboat,  the  "Claribel,"  was 
making  its  way  back,  beating  up  toward  the  shore 
against  the  light  and  baffling  wind  with  the  happy 
party  on  board.  The  moon  gave  but  a  faint  lustre 
through  the  light  clouds,  by  which  they  could  see  the 
outlines  of  the  land.  The  girls  had  turned  up  their 
sleeves,  and  held  their  arms  as  deep  down  as  they 
could  reach  into  the  water  to  see  the  phosphorescence 
blaze  at  every  movement,  outlining  their  fingers  in  fire 
and  rolling  in  foamy  flame  up  to  their  elbows;  the 
boat's  keel  seemed  cutting  through  this  soft,  cold 
flame;  it  was  wonderful  and  beautiful,  and  they  never 
tired  of  watching  it. 

"I  should  be  glad  if  the  wind  would  freshen  a  lit- 
tle," their  father  said  presently.  "This  is  all  very 
charming,  but  we  are  going  to  be  late  home  for  little 
folks,  I  'm  afraid,"  and  he  drew  Rose  to  his  knee. 

"Aren't  you  tired,  little  girU  " 

"No,  papa; "  but  she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Shall  we  soon  be  there,  now,  papa  ? " 

"I  hope  so,"  he  replied.  "Rob,  what  makes  you 
so  silent?" 


40  CAT'S-CRADLE 

"I  don't  know,  father,  whether  I'm  asleep  and 
dreaming,  or  not,  but  it  seems  to  me  every  moment 
as  if  I  heard  Cosette  mewing.  Now  just  keep  still 
a  moment  all  of  you,  and  listen.  There!  did  you 
hear?  you  haven't  a  cat  on  board  the  '  Claribel '  in 
the  cuddy,  have  you,  Jerry  ? " 

"Why,  no,"  replied  Jerry,  "but  I've  been  think- 
ing I  heard  something  queer  myself. " 

"Father!"  suddenly  cried  Hob,  "what 's  that  black 
speck  on  the  water  down  there  1 "  He  pointed  to  lee- 
ward. At  the  same  time  a  faint  sound,  sharp  enough 
to  pierce  the  breeze  that  blew  against  it,  reached  their 
ears. 

"If  'twas  daytime,  I  should  say  'twas  the  gulls 
cryin',"  said  Jerry,  "but  they  don't  fly  nights." 

"  Is  that  a  dory  anchored,  with  somebody  fishing  ? " 
asked  Mr.  Lambert. 

"No,  sir;  whatever  'tis,  it's  movin'.  Shall  we 
sheer  off  a  little  and  run  down  and  see  what  't  is?  " 

"Do,"  said  Mr.  Lambert.  As  the  "Claribel" 
turned  on  her  course,  again  the  sharp  cry  came,  this 
time  quite  clearly,  to  their  ears. 

"  Somebody  's  got  a  cat  somewhere,  now  that 's  sar- 
tin ! "  said  Jerry.  They  all  looked  and  listened 
eagerly,  fixing  their  eyes  on  the  dim  black  speck. 
The  boat  with  a  free  wind  sailed  faster;  soon  they 
were  near  enough  to  distinguish  the  outline  of  a  small 
body  sitting  up  on  the  broad  seat  in  the  stern  of  the 
dory. 


CAT'S-CRADLE  41 

"  'T  ain't  big  enough  for  a  human  critter,"  said  Jerry. 

"  Sure  's  you  're  born,  it 's  a  cat  in  a  dory !  How 
upon  earth  did  it  get  there  ? " 

"I  do  believe  it  is  Cosette! "  said  Kob. 

Again  the  moonlight  broke  through  the  rifted  cloud, 
showing  them  plainly  Cosette  sitting  upright;  her 
long,  anxious,  distressed  mews  were  pitiful  to  hear. 

"  Upon  my  word,  it  is  Cosette ! "  said  Mr.  Lambert. 

"And  that's  my  dory,"  said  Jerry,  as  he  ran  the 
sailboat  past  the  skiff,  then,  luffing  to  bring  her  along- 
side, caught  her  by  the  gunwale,  as  they  reached  her, 
and  held  her  fast.  Cosette  stood  up,  and  with  a  flying 
leap  landed  in  the  midst  of  the  astonished  group. 

"What's  that  white  thing  in  the  bow?"  cried 
Elinor.  "  Papa  !  "  she  screamed,  for  the  white  thing 
began  to  move,  and  a  little  voice  said :  — 

"I  'm  bery  cold,  papa  "  — 

"  Merciful  Heaven ! "  cried  Mr.  Lambert.  "  Max  ! 
Max,  is  it  you  1 "  as  he  snatched  him  out  of  the  dory 
and  clasped  him  close  in  his  arms,  "with  only  your 
nightdress  on?  All  alone!  Oh,  Max!  how  did  you 
get  there  ? " 

Elinor  sprang  with  a  large  shawl  she  had  brought, 
and  wrapped  it  closely  round  him;  she  could  not 
speak,  but  put  her  arms  round  her  father  and  little 
brother  and  leaned  her  head  down  on  Max's  curly 
pate. 

"My  little  boy!     My  dear  little  boy!"  Mr.  Lam- 


42  CAT'S-CRADLE 

bert  said,  over  and  over,  and  he  gathered  him  closer 
and  held  him  fast,  as  if  he  never  could  let  him  go 
again. 

"Oh,  Max!"  cried  Elinor  at  last,  seeking  for  his 
bare  cold  feet  under  the  shawl  and  cherishing  them  in 
her  warm  hands,  "how  did  you  get  there? " 

"We  did  n't  reach  to  Noah,"  Max  said  in  his  sweet 
voice.  "We  went  to  find  the  '  Cat's-Oadle, '  — 
Cosette  and  I,  —  and  Noah  and  all  the  boats,  and  we 
could  n't  see  them,  and  I  was  cold,  and  Cosette  cried, 
and  I  wanted  mamma,  and  we  could  n't  find  anything, 
and  I  want  my  Noah ; "  the  little  story  ended  in  a  sob. 

"Oh,  you  poor  little  darling,"  cried  Rose. 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  Cosette,  we  never  should 
have  known  anything  about  it,"  said  Kob. 

"I  wonder  if  they  have  missed  him  at  home,"  said 
Elinor.  "Poor  mamma!  Oh,  papa,  I  wish  we  could 
sail  faster!" 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  the  boat  neared  the 
landing  so  they  could  disembark.  Some  time  before 
they  reached  it  they  saw  dark  figures  up  and  down  the 
beach,  and  guessed  that  the  poor  mother  was  wildly 
searching  for  her  boy.  They  shouted  as  soon  as  they 
could  make  themselves  heard:  "He's  here!  He's 
safe ! " 

It  was  not  long  before  she  had  her  treasure  in  her 
happy  arms,  clinging  about  her  neck,  while  the  other 
children  clustered  eagerly  round  father  and  mother, 


CAT'S-CRADLE  43 

talking,    laughing,    crying,    wondering,    and  rejoicing, 
all  at  once,  as  they  trooped  into  the  house  together. 

"  Cosette ! "  they  cried,  after  Max  had  been  safely 
tucked  up  in  his  little  bed  once  more  and  the  little 
bed  moved  into  mamma's  room,  close  at  her  side,  — 
"oh,  Cosette!  if  it  had  not  been  for  you,  we  never, 
never,  never  should  have  found  our  dear  Max  again ! 
oh,  Cosette,  you  are  the  best  and  dearest  kitty  in  the 
world!" 


THE   BLACKBERRY-BUSH 

A  LITTLE  boy  sat  at  his  mother's  knees,  by  the  long 
western  window,  looking  out  into  the  garden.  It  was 
autumn,  and  the  wind  was  sad;  and  the  golden  elm 
leaves  lay  scattered  about  among  the  grass,  and  on  the 
gravel  path.  The  mother  was  knitting  a  little  stock- 
ing; her  fingers  moved  the  bright  needles;  but  her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  clear  evening  sky. 

As  the  darkness  gathered,  the  wee  boy  laid  his  head 
on  her  lap,  and  kept  so  still  that,  at  last,  she  leaned 
forward  to  look  into  his  dear  round  face.  He  was  not 
asleep,  but  was  watching  very  earnestly  a  blackberry- 
bush,  that  waved  its  one  tall  dark-red  spray  in  the 
wind  outside  the  fence. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  my  darling  ? "  she 
said,  smoothing  his  soft,  honey-colored  hair. 

"The  blackberry-bush,  mamma;  what  does  it  say? 
It  keeps  nodding,  nodding  to  me  behind  the  fence; 
what  does  it  say,  mamma  ?  " 

"  It  says, "  she  answered,  — 

" 'I  see  a  happy  little  boy  in  the  warm,  fire-lighted 
room.  The  wind  blows  cold,  and  here  it  is  dark  and 


THE   BLACKBERRY-BUSH  45 

lonely ;  but  that  little  boy  is  warm  and  happy  and  safe 
at  his  mother's  knees.  I  nod  to  him,  and  he  looks  at 
me.  I  wonder  if  he  knows  how  happy  he  is! 

" '  See,  all  my  leaves  are  dark  crimson.  Every  day 
they  dry  and  wither  more  and  more;  by  and  by  they 
will  be  so  weak  they  can  scarcely  cling  to  my  branches, 
and  the  north  wind  will  tear  them  all  away,  and 
nobody  will  remember  them  any  more.  Then  the 
snow  will  sink  down  and  wrap  me  close.  Then  the 
snow  will  melt  again,  and  icy  rain  will  clothe  me,  and 
the  bitter  wind  will  rattle  my  bare  twigs  up  and  down. 

" '  I  nod  my  head  to  all  who  pass;  and  dreary  nights 
and  dreary  days  go  by.  But  in  the  happy  house,  so 
warm  and  bright,  the  little  boy  plays  all  day  with 
books  and  toys.  His  mother  and  his  father  cherish 
him;  he  nestles  on  their  knees  in  the  red  firelight  at 
night,  while  they  read  to  him  lovely  stories,  or  sing 
sweet  old  songs  to  him,  —  the  happy  little  boy !  And 
outside  I  peep  over  the  snow,  and  see  a  stream  of 
ruddy  light  from  a  crack  in  the  window-shutter,  and  I 
nod  out  here  alone  in  the  dark,  thinking  how  beautiful 
it  is. 

" '  And  here  I  wait  patiently.  I  take  the  snow  and 
the  rain  and  the  cold,  and  I  am  not  sorry,  but  glad; 
for  in  my  roots  I  feel  warmth  and  life,  and  I  know 
that  a  store  of  greenness  and  beauty  is  shut  up  safe  in 
my  small  brown  buds.  Day  and  night  go  again  and 
again;  little  by  little  the  snow  melts  all  away;  the 


46  THE   BLACKBERRY-BUSH 

ground  grows  soft;  the  sky  is  blue;  the  little  birds 
fly  over,  crying,  "It  is  spring!  It  is  spring!"  Ah! 
then,  through  all  my  twigs  I  feel  the  slow  sap  stirring. 

" '  Warmer  grow  the  sunbeams,  and  softer  the  air. 
The  small  blades  of  grass  creep  thick  about  my  feet; 
the  sweet  rain  helps  swell  my  shining  buds.  More 
and  more  I  push  forth  my  leaves,  till  out  I  burst  in 
a  gay  green  dress,  and  nod  in  joy  and  pride.  The 
little  boy  comes  running  to  look  at  me,  and  cries,  "  Oh, 
mamma!  the  little  blackberry-bush  is  alive,  and  beau- 
tiful and  green.  Oh,  come  and  see !  "  And  I  hear ; 
and  I  bow  my  head  in  the  summer  wind;  and  every 
day  they  watch  me  grow  more  beautiful,  till  at  last  I 
shake  out  blossoms,  fair  and  fragrant. 

"'A  few  days  more,  and  I  drop  the  white  petals 
down  among  the  grass,  and,  lo !  the  green  tiny  berries. 
Carefully  I  hold  them  up  to  the  sun;  carefully  I 
gather  the  dew  in  the  summer  nights;  slowly  they 
ripen;  they  grow  larger  and  redder  and  darker,  and  at 
last  they  are  black,  shining,  delicious.  I  hold  them 
as  high  as  I  can  for  the  little  boy,  who  comes  dancing 
out.  He  shouts  with  joy,  and  gathers  them  in  his 
dear  hand ;  and  he  runs  to  share  them  with  his  mother, 
saying,  "Here  is  what  the  patient  blackberry-bush 
bore  for  us :  see  how  nice,  mamma !  " 

"  'Ah !  then  indeed  I  am  glad,  and  would  say,  if  I 
could,  "  Yes,  take  them,  dear  little  boy.  I  kept  them 
for  you,  held  them  long  up  to  sun  and  rain  to  make 


THE   BLACKBERRY-rBUSH  47 

them  sweet  and  ripe  for  you ; "  and  I  nod  and  nod  in 
full  content,  for  my  work  is  done.  From  the  window 
he  watches  me,  and  thinks,  "There  is  the  little  black- 
berry-bush that  was  so  kind  to  me.  I  see  it  and  I 
love  it.  I  know  it  is  safe  out  there  nodding  all  alone ; 
and  next  summer  it  will  hold  ripe  berries  up  for  me 
to  gather  again."  ' 

Then  the  wee  boy  smiled,  and  liked  the  little  story. 
His  mother  took  him  up  in  her  arms,  and  they  went 
out  to  supper,  and  left  the  blackberry-bush  nodding 
up  and  down  in  the  wind;  and  there  it  is  nodding 

yet. 


BERGETTA' S  MISFORTUNES 

OLD  Bergetta  lay  asleep  on  the  doorstep  in  the  sun. 
Bergetta  was  a  cat  of  an  inquiring  mind.  Now  an 
inquiring  mind  is  a  very  good  thing  if  it  is  not  too 
largely  developed;  but  Bergetta 's  was  of  so  lively  a 
nature  that  she  was  continually  led  into,  difficulties 
thereby.  This  morning  she  was  having  a  beautiful 
nap  in  the  spring  sunshine.  Her  two  little  white  fore 
paws  were  gathered  in  under  her  chin,  and  she  had 
encircled  herself  with  her  tail  in  the  most  compact  and 
comfortable  way.  Now  and  then  she  lifted  her  sleepy 
lids  and  winked  a  little,  and  perhaps  she  saw,  or  did 
not  see,  the  bright  blue  ocean  at  the  end  of  the  rocky 
slope  before  her,  and  the  outline  of  Appledore  Island 
across  the  strip  of  sparkling  water,  and  the  white  sails 
here  and  there,  and  the  white  clouds  dreaming  in  the 
fresh  and  tender  sky  of  spring. 

It  was  very  pleasant.  Bergetta  at  least  enjoyed  the 
warmth  and  quiet.  Her  three  companion  cats  were  all 
out  of  her  way  at  that  moment.  She  forgot  their 
existence.  She  was  only  conscious  of  the  kindly  rays 
that  sank  into  her  soft  fur  and  made  her  so  very  sleepy 
and  comfortable. 


BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES  49 

Presently  a  sound  broke  the  stillness,  very  slight 
and  far  off,  but  she  heard  it,  and  pricked  up  her  pretty 
pink-lined  ears  and  listened  intently.  Two  men,  bear- 
ing a  large  basket  between  them,  came  in  sight, 
approaching  the  house  from  the  beach.  The  basket 
seemed  heavy;  the  men  held  each  a  handle  of  it,  and 
very  silently  went  with  it  round  to  the  back  entrance 
of  the  house. 

Bergetta  settled  her  head  once  more  upon  her  folded 
paws,  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep  again.  But  the  thought 
of  the  basket  prevented. 

What  could  be  inside  that  basket  ? 

She  got  up,  stretched  herself,  and  lightly  and  noise- 
lessly made  her  way  round  the  house  to  the  back  door 
and  went  in.  The  basket  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  and  the  three  other  cats  sat  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance from  it  near  each  other,  surveying  it  doubtfully. 

Bergetta  wasn't  afraid;  she  went  slowly  towards  it 
to  investigate  its  contents,  but  when  quite  close  to  it 
she  became  aware  of  a  curious  noise  going  on  inside 
of  it  —  a  rustling,  crunching,  dull,  clashing  sound 
which  was  as  peculiar  as  alarming.  She  stopped  and 
listened;  all  the  other  cats  listened.  Suddenly  a 
queer  object  thrust  itself  up  over  the  edge,  and  a  most 
extraordinary  shape  began  to  rise  gradually  into  sight. 
Two  long,  dark,  slender  feelers  waved  about  aimlessly 
in  the  air  for  a  moment;  two  clumsy  claws  grasped 
the  rim  of  the  basket,  and  by  their  help  a  hideous 


50  BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES 

dark  bottle- green- colored  body  patched  with  vermilion, 
bristling  with  points  and  knobs,  and  cased  in  hard, 
strong,  jointed  armor,  with  eight  legs  flying  in  all 
directions,  each  fringed  at  the  foot  with  short  yellow- 
ish hair,  and  with  the  inner  edges  of  the  huge  mis- 
shapen claws  lined  with  a  row  of  sharp,  uneven  teeth, 
opening  and  shutting  with  the  grasp  of  a  vise,  —  this 
ugly  body  rose  into  view  before  the  eyes  of  the  aston- 
ished cats. 

It  was  a  living  lobster. 

Dear  children,  those  among  you  who  never  have 
seen  a  living  lobster  would  be  quite  as  astonished  as 
the  cats  were  at  its  unpleasant  aspect.  When  you  see 
these  shell-fish  they  have  been  boiled  and  are  bright 
scarlet  all  over,  and  you  think  them  queer  and  gro- 
tesque, perhaps,  they  do  not  seem  frightful;  but  a 
living  lobster  is  best  described  by  the  use  of  the  much- 
abused  word  horrid.  It  seems  a  mixture  of  spider 
and  dragon.  Its  jet-black  shining  eyes  are  set  on 
short  stalks  and  project  from  its  head,  and  the  round 
opaque  balls  turn  about  on  their  stems  and  survey  the 
world  with  a  hideous  stolidity. 

It  has  a  long,  jointed  tail,  which  it  claps  together 
with  a  loud  clash,  and  with  Avhich  it  contrives  to  draw 
itself  backward  with  wonderful  rapidity. 

Such  was  the  hard  and  horny  monster  that  raised 
itself  out  of  the  basket  and  fell  with  a  loud  noise  all 
in  a  heap  on  the  floor  before  Bergetta,  She  drew 


BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES  51 

back  in  alarm,  and  then  sat  down  at  a  safe  distance  to 
observe  this  strange  creature.  The  other  cats  also  sat 
down  to  watch,  farther  off  than  Bergetta,  but  quite  as 
much  interested. 

For  a  long  time  all  was  still.  The  lobster,  probably 
rather  shocked  by  its  fall,  lay  just  where  it  had  landed. 
Inside  the  basket  a  faint  stirring  and  wrestling  and 
clashing  was  heard  from  the  other  lobsters,  —  that  was 
all.  Very  soon  Bergetta  felt  herself  becoming  ex- 
tremely bored  with  this  state  of  things.  She  crept 
a  little  nearer  the  basket. 

"I  needn't  be  afraid  of  that  thing,"  thought  she, 
"it  doesn't  move  any  more." 

Nearer  and  nearer  she  crept,  the  other  cats  watching 
her,  but  not  stirring.  At  last  she  reached  the  lobster 
that  in  its  wrath  and  discomfort  sat  blowing  a  cloud  of 
rainbow  bubbles  from  its  mouth,  but  making  no  other 
movement.  Bergetta  ventured  to  put  out  her  paw 
and  touch  its  hard  shell.  It  took  no  notice  of  this, 
though  it  saw  Bergetta  with  its  queer  eyes  on  stilts, 
which  it  wheeled  about  on  all  sides  to  "view  the  pros- 
pect o'er." 

She  tried  another  little  pat,  whereat  the  lobster 
waved  its  long  antennae,  or  feelers,  that  streamed  away 
over  its  back  in  the  air,  far  beyond  its  tail. 

That  was  charming!  Bergetta  was  delighted.  The 
monster  was  really  playful!  She  gave  him  another 
little  pat  with  her  soft  paw,  and  then  coquettishly 


52  BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES 

boxed  his  ears,  or  the  place  where  his  ears  ought  to 
be.  There  was  a  boding  movement  of  the  curious 
shelly  machinery  about  his  mouth,  an  intricate  net- 
work all  covered  with  the  prismatic  bubbles  he  had 
blown  in  his  wrath,  but  he  was  yet  too  indifferent  to 
mind  anything  much. 

Bergetta  continued  to  tease  him.  This  was  fun! 
First  with  the  right  and  then  with  the  left  paw  she 
gave  him  little  cuffs  and  pushes  and  pats  which  moved 
him  no  more  than  a  rock.  At  last  he  seemed  to 
become  suddenly  aware  that  he  was  being  treated  with 
somewhat  more  familiarity  than  was  agreeable  from  an 
entire  stranger,  and  began  to  move  his  ponderous  front 
claws  uneasily. 

Still  Bergetta  continued  to  frisk  about  him,  till  he 
thrust  out  his  eight  smaller  claws  with  a  gesture  of 
displeasure,  and  opened  and  shut  the  clumsy  teeth  of 
the  larger  ones  in  a  way  that  was  quite  dreadful  to 
behold.  "This  is  very  funny,"  thought  Bergetta.  "I 
wonder  what  it  means!"  and  she  pushed  her  little 
white  paw  directly  between  the  teeth  of  the  larger  claw 
which  was  opening  and  shutting  slowly.  Instantly 
the  two  sides  snapped  together  with  a  tremendous  grip, 
and  Bergetta  uttered  a  scream  of  pain,  —  her  paw  was 
caught  as  in  a  vise  and  cut  nearly  through  with  the 
uneven  toothed  edge. 

Alas,  alas!  Here  was  a  situation.  In  vain  she 
tried  to  get  away;  the  lobster's  claw  clasped  her  deli- 


BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES  53 

cate  paw  in  a  grasp  altogether  too  close  for  comfort. 
Crying  with  fear  and  distress,  Bergetta  danced  about 
all  over  the  room;  and  everywhere  Bergetta  danced 
the  lobster  was  sure  to  go  too,  clinging  for  dear  life; 
up  and  down,  over  and  across,  they  went  in  the  wildest 
kind  of  a  jig,  while  all  the  other  cats  made  themselves 
as  small  as  they  could  in  the  remotest  corners  and 
watched  the  performance  with  mingled  awe  and  con- 
sternation. Such  a  noise!  Bergetta  crying  and  the 
lobster  clattering,  and  the  two  cutting  such  capers 
together!  At  last  some  one  heard  the  noise,  and 
coming  to  the  rescue  thrust  a  stick  between  the  clumsy 
teeth  and  loosened  the  grip  of  the  merciless  claw;  and 
poor  Bergetta,  set  at  liberty,  limped  off  to  console  her- 
self as  best  she  might. 

For  days  she  went  limping  about,  so  lame  she  could 
hardly  creep  round  the  house.  When  at  last  she 
began  to  feel  a  little  better,  she  strayed  one  day  into 
the  same  room,  and  seeing  what  she  rightly  guessed 
to  be  a  pan  of  milk  on  the  table,  jumped  first  into 
a  chair,  and  then  up  on  the  table  to  investigate. 
Naughty  Bergetta!  Yes;  the  pan  was  full  of  milk 
not  yet  skimmed.  How  luscious !  She  did  not  wait 
for  anybody's  permission,  but  straightway  thrust  her 
pink  nose  into  the  smooth,  creamy  surface.  Now  it 
was  washing  day,  and  just  under  the  edge  of  the  table, 
behind  Bergetta,  on  the  floor,  a  tub  full  of  hot  suds 
had  been  left.  She  lifted  up  her  head  after  her  first 


54  BERGETTA'S  MISFORTUNES 

taste  of  the  cream  —  how  nice  it  was  —  oh,  horror, 
what  did  she  see !  Just  opposite  her  on  the  table  was 
another  lobster  with  its  long  feelers  bristling;  it  had 
been  boiled,  by  the  way,  but  of  course  Bergetta  could 
not  know  this  tranquilizing  fact.  Bright  scarlet,  with 
its  dull  dark  eyes  pointed  straight  at  her,  it  dawned 
upon  Bergetta' s  terrified  vision. 

So  eager  she  had  been  to  look  into  the  milkpan, 
she  had  not  discovered  it  before,  and  now  her  fright 
was  so  great  that  she  gave  one  leap  backwards  and 
fell,  splash!  into  the  tub  of  warm  suds. 

Good  heavens,  what  a  commotion!  With  eyes, 
ears,  nose,  and  mouth  full  of  soapy  foam,  she  crawled 
out  of  it  and,  more  dead  than  alive,  ran  to  the  door 
and  forth  into  the  cold,  leaving  a  long  stream  of  suds 
on  the  floor  in  her  wake.  The  wind  blew  through 
her  soaked  fur  and  chilled  the  marrow  of  her  bones. 

Poor  Bergetta!  All  the  other  cats  came  round  her 
and  stared  at  her  with  astonishment;  and  I  'm  afraid 
if  cats  ever  do  laugh,  they  certainly  laughed  at  Ber- 
getta when  she  told  them  her  morning's  experience. 

I  don't  think  she  ever  coquetted  with  a  lobster 
again  or  tried  to  steal  milk  from  the  pan,  but  went 
mewing  about,  rubbing  her  cheek  against  the  kind 
little  cook's  foot  till  she  gave  her  all  a  cat  could  wish. 

And  let  us  hope  she  escaped  any  more  such  dire 
disasters  during  the  rest  of  her  life. 


SOME  POLITE  DOGS 

IT  was  a  lovely  day  in  autumn.  Little  Lotty,  the 
curly  terrier,  was  asleep  at  my  feet  in  the  warm  patch 
of  September  sunshine  that  lay  on  the  floor.  I  had 
been  sitting  still  a  long  time,  so  busy  with  my  work 
that  I  had  thought  of  nothing  else.  Looking  up  at 
last  at  the  crimson  hollyhock  that  stood,  tall  and 
splendid,  outside  the  window,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  blue  sea  beyond,  and  the  clear,  warm  sky,  and 
realized  how  beautiful  the  afternoon  had  grown. 

"  Come,  Lotty,  wake  up ! "  I  cried  to  the  little  dog ; 
"let 's  go  for  a  walk." 

Lotty  jumped  up,  wide  awake  in  an  instant,  and 
barking  like  mad  with  delighted  expectation,  as  all 
her  kind  are  wont  to  do  at  such  a  prospect.  I  gath- 
ered my  sketching  paraphernalia  together,  and,  calling 
the  maid  to  help  me,  I  set  out  down  the  grassy  slope 
to  the  sea's  margin,  which  sparkled  and  flashed,  edged 
with  the  flood-tide's  lazy  surf,  hardly  more  than  a 
stone's  throw  from  the  door.  Lotty,  in  an  ecstasy, 
frisked,  barking  wildly,  before  and  behind  me,  like  a 
small  hurricane  of  joy.  Down  the  field  through  the 
bars,  into  the  cart-path  for  a  few  steps,  —  wild  rose- 


56  SOME   POLITE  DOGS 

bushes  bright  with  scarlet  haws  on  either  side,  —  across 
the  coarse  sea  grass  and  rough  pebbles  at  the  top  of 
the  beach,  out  at  last  upon  the  beautiful  level  stretch 
of  gray  sand,  smooth  and  hard  as  a  floor,  half  a  mile 
long,  and  curved  like  the  crescent  of  the  new  moon. 
We  traversed  one  fourth  of  its  distance,  then  I  ar- 
ranged my  umbrella  and  my  easel,  and  sat  down  ready 
for  a  good  time.  Lotty  came  to  anchor  likewise,  and 
sitting  bolt  upright  on  the  sand,  eyed  me  curiously 
from  under  her  comical  frowsy  locks. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "what  do  you  think  of 
it?" 

With  a  shake  of  the  head  and  a  wag  of  the  tail,  she 
crept  close  to  my  feet  and  lay  down,  as  if  she  meant 
to  make  the  best  of  it,  at  any  rate.  I  proceeded  to 
begin  my  sketch.  But  the  place  was  so  enchanting, 
on  every  side  so  beautiful,  I  found  it  hard  to  do  any 
more  than  to  look  and  to  love  everything  I  saw,  for 
a  long  time.  The  sea  was  the  most  delicious  turquoise 
blue,  and  where  it  ran  up  over  the  shallows,  the  color 
melted  into  transparent  emerald,  the  long,  slow  billows 
lifted  themselves  lazily  and  rolled  in  with  soft  rush 
and  whisper,  almost  too  lazy  to  roll  at  all.  Where 
the  foam  sparkled  at  the  edge  of  the  sand,  kelp  and 
weeds  were  scattered  in  broken  lines  of  rich  brown, 
dull  purple,  crimson,  and  olive  green.  Far  away  a 
few  sails  were  dreaming;  a  group  of  snowy  gulls  rose 
and  fell  on  the  long  swell  of  the  ocean  close  at  hand. 


SOME   POLITE   DOGS  57 

On  the  left,  tall  marsh-grass  came  down  to  the  top  of 
the  beach  in  streaks  of  yellow,  red-brown,  and  ripe 
green,  with  patches  of  crimson  samphire  beginning  to 
glow  in  the  rockier  places;  all  about  me  were  the  wild 
rosebushes  with  their  scarlet  berries.  I  turned  away 
from  the  water  and  looked  up  to  the  house  I  had  left; 
its  red  roofs  and  dull  yellow-green  walls  steeped  in 
the  sunshine,  —  rich  and  deep  in  color,  —  the  vines 
and  flowers  about  it,  and  the  huge  old  elm  in  front 
of  it,  the  broad  fields  and  mellowing  woods,  seemed  so 
peaceful  and  happy  that  I  spoke  aloud,  "How  heav- 
enly it  is ! " 

Lotty  perked  up  her  head  and  looked  at  me. 
Laughing  at  her  funny  expression,  I  turned  to  my 
sketch  and  began  working  in  earnest.  The  crickets 
simmered  pleasantly,  the  sweet  sad  cry  of  myriad  gold- 
finches among  the  drying  sunflower  stalks  and  weeds 
sounded  incessantly;  a  crow  cawed  now  and  then,  a 
gull  high  aloft  in  the  blue  uttered  a  harsh  cry  which 
the  distance  softened;  a  little  beach-bird  flew  piping 
along  the  sand.  Lotty  pricked  up  her  ears. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear !  "  I  cried.  "  You  are  not  to  run 
after  any  little  bird  whatever.  Stay  here  and  behave 
yourself  like  a  good  dog;"  for  she  had  jumped  up, 
and  was  already  starting  away  to  chase  the  feathered 
creature.  With  a  very  aggrieved  and  reproachful  ex- 
pression she  returned  and  sat  down  a  few  feet  from 
me.  But  I  only  continued  to  laugh  at  her,  and  went 


58  SOME   POLITE   DOGS 

on  with  my  painting,  presently  becoming  so  engrossed 

in  it  that  I  forgot  she  was  there. 

Some  time  passed.  Suddenly  a  small  paw  was 
thrust  into  my  paint-box,  and  there  was  poor  Lotty 
standing  on  her  hind  feet  looking  at  me,  as  much  as 
to  say :  — 

"Oh  dear,  I'm  bored  to  death.  Why  don't  we 
take  a  walk  ?  Why  have  you  planted  yourself  here, 
where  you  are  doing  nothing  at  all?  Why  don't  we 
go  home,  if  we  can't  go  to  walk  ?  Oh  dear,  oh  dear ! " 

And  she  actually  began  to  cry. 

"Well,  go  home!  you  little  goose,"  I  cried,  greatly 
amused.  "I  don't  want  you  to  stay! " 

She  left  me,  went  a  little  way  toward  the  house, 
then  turned  back  and  looked  at  me,  whining  and  coax- 
ing. Suddenly  she  came  running  and  cuddled  down 
again  affectionately,  as  if  she  thought,  "Well,  I'm 
sorry  you  're  such  an  idiot,  but  I  won't  desert  you, 
though  you  do  behave  in  this  extremely  foolish  and 
unreasonable  manner. " 

So  she  lay  patiently  watching  me  from  under  her 
tangled  shock  of  hair  till  I  began  to  put  up  my  brushes, 
and  made  ready  to  depart. 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  western  horizon  in  a  golden 
glory  as  I  shouldered  my  easel  and  took  my  way 
toward  home,  Lotty  dancing  with  delight.  I  could 
not  call  the  little  maid  to  help  me  back,  so  I  arranged 
the  things  as  well  as  I  could.  I  had  not  a  regular 


SOME    POLITE    DOGS  59 

sketching  outfit,  and  my  long  easel,  though  light,  was 
rather  difficult  to  carry;  but  I  put  my  head  through 
the  V  end,  resting  the  two  legs  on  my  shoulders.  I 
had  also  to  carry  a  small  chair,  a  large  umbrella,  my 
sketching-block,  a  tin  pail  in  which  I  had  brought 
fresh  water,  and  over  my  left  arm  I  hung  a  leather 
bag  containing  paint-boxes,  brushes,  etc.  This  was 
quite  heavy,  and  the  whole  load  was  as  much  as  one 
person  could  take;  but  I  had  not  far  to  go,  so  trudged 
slowly  along  till  I  turned  from  the  beach  into  the 
green  field  that  sloped  from  the  house  to  the  sea; 
Lotty  all  the  while  capering  and  barking,  rejoicing 
that  I  had  regained  my  senses  at  last.  Her  noise  was 
presently  heard  by  the  other  dogs,  which  joined  in  the 
chorus  afar  off,  and  I  saw  appear  at  the  upper  edge 
of  the  field  the  two  great  St.  Bernards,  Champer- 
nowne  and  Nita,  looming  large  against  the  sky.  They 
stopped,  gazing  at  us  from  the  distance,  as  if  taking 
in  the  situation;  then  in  a  moment  they  began  to  rush 
down  toward  us  with  long,  loping  canter,  and  knowing 
their  affectionate  impetuosity  I  said  to  myself  :  — 

"Now  I  am  lost!  they  will  come  full  tilt  against 
me  and  all  these  traps,  and  I  shall  be  a  total  wreck." 

Amused,  and  more  than  half  dreading  the  onset,  I 
stood  still  and  waited,  admiring  the  magnificent,  tawny, 
lion-colored  creatures  as  they  swept  toward  me,  their 
beautiful  eyes  beaming  with  intelligence,  and  all  their 
motions  full  of  grace. 


60  SOME   POLITE   DOGS 

Suddenly  the  great  dog  Champernowne,  as  he 
reached  me,  stopped  perfectly  still  without  touching 
me,  and  before  I  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do,  stood 
upright  on  his  hind  feet,  as  tall  as  myself,  quietly 
slipped  his  under  jaw  through  the  handles  of  the  bag 
which  swung  on  my  arm,  and  with  the  grace  and 
courtesy  of  a  grand  duke,  nothing  less,  gently  and 
firmly  drew  it  off,  and  turning,  proceeded  decorously 
up  the  path  that  led  to  the  house,  bearing  it  with  the 
utmost  care. 

Astonished  and  delighted,  I  cried,  "Bravo,  Champ! 
Good  dog !  fine  fellow !  You  saw  I  needed  help,  and 
you  gave  it  like  a  gentleman,  didn't  you?  But  who 
would  have  thought  you  had  so  much  sense  ?  "  Then 
Nita,  hearing  all  these  praises  lavished  on  her  comrade, 
wished  to  have  her  share  also;  and  joining  Champ, 
she  too  seized  hold  of  the  bag,  and  both  together 
trotted  side  by  side  all  the  way  to  the  house,  where 
they  arrived  some  time  before  I  reached  it,  and  where 
I  found  them  faithfully  keeping  guard  over  my  prop- 
erty on  the  threshold. 

"Well,  you  are  certainly  the  very  handsomest,  best, 
and  dearest  dogs  in  the  whole  world ! "  I  cried,  as  I 
opened  the  door  and  allowed  them  to  crowd  into  the 
pleasant  room,  Lotty  and  two  or  three  of  the  smaller 
dogs  accompanying  them  with  much  frisking  and  bark- 
ing. But  Champ  and  Nita,  appreciating  to  the  utmost 
the  importance  of  the  occasion  and  the  magnitude  of 


SOME   POLITE   DOGS  61 

the  favor  extended  to  them,  took  their  seats  on  the 
hearth  before  the  open  fireplace  with  the  greatest  dig- 
nity. This  was  the  summit  of  delight  to  them,  to  be 
allowed  to  sit  in  the  house  before  the  fire  and  enjoy 
the  society  of  their  human  friends,  — a  favor  not  too 
often  accorded  them.  A  handful  of  driftwood  had 
been  kindled  on  the  hearth  to  take  off  the  chill  of  the 
evening  fast  closing  in.  Presently  they  spread  their 
big  bulks  out  on  the  rug  before  it  in  blissful  satisfac- 
tion, while  I  patted  their  heads  and  stroked  their  long 
fur,  and  told  them  how  I  admired  them,  how  proud  I 
was  of  them,  till  their  eyes  shone  with  delight,  and 
they  fairly  laughed  for  joy! 


THE  BEAK  AT  APPLEDOEE 

MR.  BRET  HARTE  once  told  so  charming  a  story 
about  a  bear,  dear  children,  that  I  hesitate  about  giv- 
ing you  mine  —  which,  indeed,  is  hardly  a  story  at 
all;  but  perhaps  you  may  like  to  hear  what  I  have  to 
tell. 

Our  bear  came  from  Georgia  when  he  was  a  tiny 
baby- bear;  but  he  was  not  nice  and  soft  and  silky 
like  Mr.  Harte's  bear,  — he  was  rusty  and  brown  and 
shaggy  and  rough,  and  he  looked  askance  at  everybody 
out  of  his  little  eyes,  that  were  as  black  as  beads.  I 
dare  say  he  did  not  find  it  at  all  agreeable  to  come  all 
the  way  from  Georgia  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals;  and 
I  am  sure  he  did  not  find  it  pleasant  after  he  arrived 
at  his  destination.  He  was  tethered  to  a  stick  in  a 
grassy  space  in  front  of  the  house,  and  the  children 
played  with  him,  morning,  noon,  and  eve,  one  whole 
long  summer.  Alas !  I  fear  he  was  often  weary  of  his 
brief  life,  and  would  have  been  glad  never  to  have 
been  born.  For,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  there  were  many 
naughty  and  thoughtless  children  among  those  who 
played  with  him,  —  unkind  boys  who  poked  at  him 
with  sticks  and  rolled  him  over  and  over  in  his  help- 


THE   BEAR   AT   APPLEDORE  63 

lessness,  and  teased  and  tormented  him  till  it  was 
almost  too  much  to  be  borne.  The  little  girls  were 
kinder;  one  especially  I  remember,  who  used  to  hold 
him  in  her  arms  as  if  he  had  been  a  big  kitten,  and 
lay  his  dusky  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  put  her  cheek 
down  against  his  shaggy  crown  so  tenderly,  and  sit 
rocking  to  and  fro  on  the  grass  with  him  hours  at  a 
time.  And  often  after  she  went  to  bed  at  night,  I 
would  hear  her  sighing  out  of  the  fullness  of  her  heart, 
"Oh,  that  dear,  dear  bear!  " 

Well,  the  poor  little  creature  endured  his  captivity 
till  the  eighth  day  of  September,  when  there  came  a 
tremendous  storm,  with  a  wind  from  the  south,  which 
was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  hurricane.  Windows 
were  blown  in,  buildings  blown  down,  shingles  ripped 
off  roofs  in  flying  flocks,  —  there  was  a  fine  tempest ! 
A  great  copper-colored  arch  spanned  the  black  sky  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening;  the  sea  lifted  itself  up 
and  flung  itself,  white  with  fury,  all  over  the  island; 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult  the  little  bear  disap- 
peared. Nobody  thought  of  him,  there  was  such  a 
confusion,  everybody  trying  to  save  themselves  from 
the  fearful  wind  that  had  smashed  the  windows  and 
broken  into  the  houses  and  was  destroying  everything, 
in  spite  of  all  we  could  do.  Terror  probably  gave  the 
baby-bear  strength;  he  tugged  wildly  at  his  chain,  it 
broke,  and  he  fled  away  through  the  dark,  and  when 
the  morning  came  we  could  not  find  him  anywhere. 


64  THE    BEAR   AT   APPLEDORE 

Fortunately,  the  gale  only  lasted  a  few  hours,  and  at 
sunrise  next  day  the  sea  was  calm,  except  just  about 
the  rocks,  where  it  rolled  in  tremendous  breakers  and 
cast  clouds  of  diamond  drops  up  toward  the  sky.  A 
fishing-schooner  had  been  wrecked  at  the  south  side 
of  the  island;  I  went  over  to  look  at  her.  It  was  not 
cheerful  to  see  her  crushed  hull  heaving  helplessly  up 
and  down,  and  the  poor  fishermen  sadly  picking  up 
here  and  there  fragments  of  ropes,  rigging,  and  fish- 
ing-gear which  the  awful  sea  had  spared  them;  so  I 
wandered  away  along  the  shore,  and  at  last  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  a  high  cliff  and  admired  the  great 
gleaming,  sparkling  floor  of  the  ocean  and  the  wonder- 
ful billows  that  shattered  themselves  in  splendor  be- 
tween me  and  the  sun.  I  pushed  with  my  foot  a  bit 
of  stone  over  the  brink  of  the  crag,  and  heard  it  fall 
below;  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  heard  another  and 
quite  an  unexpected  sound,  —  a  noise  hardly  to  be 
described,  something  between  a  hiss  and  a  whistle, 
which  came  up  to  me  from  the  gorge  below.  I  knew 
at  once  it  could  be  nothing  but  the  bear,  and  leaned 
over  and  looked  down.  Sure  enough,  there  he  was, 
a  black  heap  curled  up  on  a  shelf  of  rock  just  below 
me,  a  few  feet  out  of  reach.  He  looked  so  comfort- 
able, for  it  was  the  sunniest,  cosiest  nook,  and  little 
vines  of  scarlet  pimpernel  trailed  about  him,  and 
plumes  of  goldenrod  waved  out  of  clefts  in  the  rock, 
and  a  tall  mullein  stood  up  still  and  straight  beside 


THE   BEAR   AT  APPLEDORE  65 

him,  its  head  heavy  with  thick-set  seed-vessels.  I 
was  surprised  to  see  him,  and  very  glad,  as  you  may 
imagine;  so  I  called  out  in  the  most  engaging  tones, 
"Good-morning,  my  dear;  I  'm  very  glad  to  see  you!" 
I  am  pained  to  say,  he  looked  up  at  me  with  an 
expression  of  intense  cunning  and  unlimited  defiance, 
and  uttered  again  that  shrill,  suspicious  half  hiss,  half 
whistle,  which  being  interpreted  might  signify  "  Male- 
diction ! "  So  fierce  he  looked  and  savage,  with  that 
distrustful  sidelong  leer  out  of  his  black  eyes,  he  was 
far  from  being  an  agreeable  object  to  look  at;  and  as 
I  could  not  carry  him  home  alone,  or  even  capture 
him,  I  was  obliged  to  leave  him  alone  in  his  glory. 
But  I  made  a  little  speech  to  him  over  the  cliff  edge 
before  going  away,  in  which  I  sympathized  with  his 
sorrowful  state.  "If  I  only  could  have  had  you  for 
my  own,  poor  little  bear,  you  should  not  have  been 
teased  and  plagued  and  had  your  temper  spoiled. 
Don't  cherish  resentment  against  me,  I  beg  of  you!  If 
you  '11  only  stay  here  till  I  come  back,  I  '11  bring 
you  something  to  eat,  and  lumps  of  sugar,  my  dear." 
And  so  I  went  away  and  left  him  snarling.  But  when 
I  went  back  he  had  disappeared,  and,  though  we 
sought  for  him  everywhere,  we  did  not  see  him  again 
for  nearly  seven  months.  I  was  sure  he  was  alive  all 
the  time,  snugly  stowed  away  in  some  deep  crevice, 
sucking  his  paws,  perhaps,  which  I  had  been  told  was 
a  favorite  pursuit  of  bears  in  the  winter  season.  But 


66  THE   BEAR   AT   APPLEDORE 

my  belief  was  scorned  and  flouted  by  the  rest  of  the 
family.  "What!"  they  cried,  "you  think  that  little 
creature  could  live  in  this  zero  weather  so  many  weeks, 
so  many  months,  with  nothing  to  eat?  Of  course  he 
is  frozen  to  death  long  ago !  "  But  I  believed  him  to 
be  alive  all  the  same;  and  I  was  not  surprised  when, 
one  evening  in  April,  while  the  sky  was  warm  and 
crimson  with  sunset,  there  rose  a  cry  outside  the 
house,  "The  bear!  the  bear!"  and  from  the  window 
I  saw  him,  grown  twice  as  large  as  he  had  been  in  the 
autumn,  clumsily  climbing  over  a  stone  wall  near  by. 
All  the  men  about  the  house  gave  chase;  but  he 
plunged  bravely  over  the  rocks  and  suddenly  disap- 
peared, as  a  drop  of  water  soaks  into  the  ground,  in  a 
large  seam  in  the  side  of  the  hill.  There  they  found 
his  cave,  all  strewn  with  bones  and  the  feathers  of 
fowls.  They  could  not  dislodge  him  that  night;  but 
in  the  morning  they  made  a  business  of  it,  and  at  last 
brought  him  down  to  the  house  with  a  rope  around 
his  neck,  a  most  reluctant  and  indignant  quadruped. 
As  there  were  no  children  then  to  tease  him,  he  led  a 
peaceful  life  for  two  months,  and  I  tried  by  the  most 
persevering  kindness  and  attention  to  make  his  days 
less  unhappy.  I  led  him  about  from  place  to  place, 
selecting  new  spots  in  which  to  fasten  him,  and  feed- 
ing him  with  everything  I  knew  he  liked.  I  even 
brought  him  into  the  house,  though  he  was  as  large 
as  a  Newfoundland  dog,  and  spread  a  mat  for  him  in 


THE    BEAR   AT   APPLEDORE  67 

the  corner;  but  his  temper  had  really  been  hopelessly 
soured  in  his  youth,  and  though  I  knew  he  was  de- 
lighted in  the  depths  of  his  heart  when  he  saw  me 
coming  with,  his  beloved  lumps  of  sugar,  he  never 
could  refrain  from  lifting  up  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
in  that  ugly  snarl,  and  uttering  his  distrustful  hiss, 
till  I  became  quite  discouraged.  At  last  he  broke  his 
chain  again,  and  disappeared  a  second  time.  All 
summer  he  kept  himself  hidden  by  day,  but  crept 
out  after  sunset,  foraging;  and  he  was  the  terror  of 
all  the  mothers  who  came  to  Appledore,  and  the  chil- 
dren were  watched  and  guarded  with  the  greatest  care, 
lest  he  should  find  one  and  run  away  with  it.  But 
there  wasn't  really  any  reason  for  so  much  alarm. 
The  poor  bear  was  quite  as  much  afraid  of  human 
beings  as  they  could  be  of  him. 

Summer  passed  and  winter  came  again,  and  he 
buried  himself  once  more  in  the  cave  on  the  hillside 
and  slept  till  spring.  But  when  he  emerged  for  the 
second  time,  behold,  he  had  waxed  huge  and  terrible 
to  see.  With  difficulty  he  was  secured,  and  it  was 
decided  that  now  he  was  really  dangerous  and  must  be 
disposed  of  in  some  way.  About  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  Appledore  lies  a  little  island  called  Londoners, 
then  occupied  by  a  foreigner,  who  lived  there  with 
his  family.  This  man  was  found  willing  to  take  care 
of  the  bear;  a  price  was  agreed  upon  for  his  care  and 
keep,  and  he  was  tied  and  put  into  a  boat  and  rowed 


68  THE   BEAR   AT    APPLEDORE 

over  to  his  new  home  one  pleasant  day  in  early  sum- 
mer, and  there  left  and  forgotten  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Appledore.  But  in  August  I  went  over  to  Londoners, 
one  delicious  afternoon,  to  gather  the  wild  pink  morn- 
ing-glories that  grew  there  in  great  abundance.  I 
found  them  running  all  over  the  rocks  and  bushes,  up 
elder  and  thistle  stalks,  and  I  carefully  untwisted  their 
strong  stems  and  hung  one  vine  after  another  over  my 
shoulders  till  they  fell  down  like  a  beautiful  green 
cloak  to  my  heels,  for  by  carrying  them  in  that  way 
there  was  no  danger  of  crushing  or  injuring  the  buds 
and  rosy  bells  that  still  were  open,  though  it  was 
afternoon.  The  cool  sea  air  prevents  their  withering 
and  closing  as  they  do  on  the  mainland,  and  they  keep 
open  all  day.  I  was  going  toward  the  beach  with  my 
burden,  when  suddenly  I  came  upon  the  bear.  Oh, 
but  he  was  a  monster!  He  gave  a  savage  growl  when 
he  saw  me,  an  indescribable  sound  of  hatred  and 
wrath,  and  his  eyes  glowed  red  and  angry.  You  may 
be  sure  I  started  back  out  of  his  reach  in  a  flash! 
He  was  fastened  by  a  heavy  chain  to  a  small  stake; 
he  had  worn  the  green  grass  dry  and  dead  as  far  as 
he  could  pace;  he  was  huge,  heavy,  horrid.  I  came 
away  from  him  as  fast  as  I  could.  As  I  passed  near 
the  little  shanty,  there  ran  out  from  the  door,  and 
stood  directly  in  my  path,  a  poor  little  girl  six  or  seven 
years  old.  She  was  dressed  in  a  flaming  pink  calico 
gown,  and  over  her  shoulders  tumbled  a  thicket  of 


THE   BEAR   AT   APPLEDORE  69 

dull  carrot- red  hair,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  never 
seen  a  comb,  —  so  dry,  so  rough,  so  knotted  and 
tangled  it  was.  She  had  small  pale  blue  eyes;  and 
she  opened  her  mouth  and  uttered  some  words  which 
I  vainly  strove  to  understand.  Still  she  kept  repeat- 
ing her  incantation,  over  and  over,  with  the  same 
monotonous  tone,  till  I  really  began  to  wonder  if  she 
were  not  some  funny  little  gnome  sprung  up  out  of 
the  earth  at  my  feet.  I  looked  about;  behind  me 
crouched  the  dark  bulk  of  the  angry  bear,  before  me 
in  the  distance  I  saw  my  friends  pushing  off  the  boat 
and  making  ready  to  depart.  Suddenly,  my  ears  hav- 
ing grown  accustomed  to  the  savage  syllables  of  the 
strange  being,  it  flashed  on  me  that  she  was  saying, 
"  Five  cents  for  looking  at  the  bear !  —  five  cents  for 
looking  at  the  bear ! "  precisely  as  if  she  were  a 
machine  that  could  do  nothing  else;  and  she  never 
stopped  saying  it  till  I  broke  into  hearty  laughter, 
and  answered  her,  "My  dear  Miss  Caliban,  I  have 
seen  the  bear  before!  I  didn't  come  to  look  at  the 
bear;  and  beside,  I  haven't  brought  any  money  with 
me,  or  I  would  give  you  some,"  upon  which  she 
turned  and  hopped  back  with  a  motion  and  clumsi- 
ness more  like  a  large  pink  toad  than  a  human  being. 
Great  was  everybody's  amusement  at  the  idea  of  taxing 
the  public  for  "looking  at  the  bear."  All  who  landed 
at  Londoners  Island,  it  seemed,  were  obliged  to  pay 
five  cents  for  that  privilege! 


70  THE   BEAR   AT   APPLEDORE 

But  the  huge  fellow  was  brought  back  to  Appledore 
in  September,  and  then  his  enormous  strength  and 
enormous  appetite  made  him  anything  but  an  agreeable 
addition  to  the  family.  Every  night,  when  it  was 
quite  dark  and  still,  and  all  the  inmates  of  the  house 
asleep,  he  prowled  about,  seeking  what  he  might 
devour.  Bolts  and  bars  were  nothing  to  him;  such 
little  impediments  as  windows  he  minded  not  in  the 
least,  but  calmly  lumbered  through  them,  taking  sash, 
glass,  and  all  as  he  came.  Then  he  made  off  with 
everything  he  could  find  in  the  way  of  provender,  and 
kept  himself  hidden  all  day,  safely  out  of  sight  of 
men.  One  night  the  family  had  retired  early,  and  all 
were  wrapped  in  dreams.  It  was  between  ten  and 
eleven  o'clock,  and  dark  and  moonless,  when  he  stole 
softly  beneath  the  windows  of  the  store-room,  where 
were  kept  barrels  of  beef,  pork,  and  lard,  and  molasses 
most  tempting.  He  climbed  to  one  of  the  low  win- 
dows and  set  his  mighty  shoulder  against  it.  Crash !  it 
gave  way,  and  down  he  plunged,  making  noise  enough 
to  wake  the  dead.  Two  women  were  sleeping  above 
in  that  part  of  the  house,  but  they  were  too  frightened 
to  leave  their  rooms  and  call  assistance;  so  they  lay 
and  trembled  while  our  four-footed  friend  made  him- 
self quite  at  home  below.  Oh,  but  he  had  a  splendid 
time  of  it!  He  extricated  great  wedges  of  pork  to 
carry  off  to  his  den;  he  wallowed  into  the  top  of  the 
hogshead  of  lard  till  he  must  have  been  a  melting 
spectacle;  he  worried  the  faucet  out  of  the  molasses 


THE   BEAR  AT   APPLEDORE  71 

cask  and  set  the  thick,  sweet  stream  running  all  over 
the  floor,  and  then  rolled  in  it  till  he  must  have  been 
a  sugar-coated  quadruped  indeed.  Never  was  a  bear 
in  such  a  paradise !  He  made  expeditions  to  his  den 
through  the  broken  window,  carrying  off  nearly  a  bar- 
rel of  pork,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night  in 
that  blissful  lake  of  molasses.  But  when  the  morning 
dawned  and  the  state  of  things  below  was  investi- 
gated, great  was  the  wrath  and  consternation  in  Apple- 
dore.  What  was  to  be  done  1  Evidently  this  was  too 
expensive  a  pet  to  be  kept  on  a  desert  island;  at  this 
rate,  he  would  soon  dispose  of  all  the  provisions,  and 
most  likely  finish  off  with  the  inhabitants  in  default 
of  anything  better !  A  dreadful  decree  went  forth,  — 
that  bear  must  die!  He  was,  indeed,  too  dangerous 
in  his  fearful  strength  to  be  allowed  to  live.  But  to 
find  him,  —  there  was  a  difficulty !  One  of  the  men 
was  shingling  on  the  highest  roof;  he  looked  about 
him,  and  afar  off,  curled  in  a  green,  turfy  hollow,  he 
saw  the  large,  dark  mass  of  Bruin's  body  lying,  like 
the  Sybarite  he  was,  steeping  himself  in  sunshine, 
after  his  night's  orgy  in  the  store-room.  Somebody 
was  sent  out  with  a  rifle-pistol,  and  before  he  knew 
that  danger  was  near,  the  sun  had  ceased  to  shine  for 
that  poor  bear.  It  was  so  instantaneous  he  hardly 
felt  his  death,  and  I  was  glad  to  know  that,  at  last, 
all  his  troubles  were  over;  but  I  was  sorry  he  had 
ever  left  the  wilds  of  Georgia  to  take  up  his  abode 
with  us  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 


PEGGY'S   GARDEN,  AND   WHAT   GREW 
THEREIN 

"PEGGY!  Peggy!  "  Who  was  calling  Peggy? 
But  the  question  seemed  rather  to  be  who  was  not 
calling  her.  From  the  corner  by  the  low  window 
came  the  grandmother's  querulous  voice,  "Peggy,  my 
dear,  come  and  pick  up  my  stitch!  I've  dropped  a 
stitch,  and  my  old  eyes  can't  find  it,"  and  Peggy 
turned  to  her;  but  before  she  had  straightened  the 
knitting,  a  little  voice  rose  in  a  wail  from  the  door- 
step, where  her  small  brother  whittled  a  boat  from  a 
water- worn  shingle,  "Oh,  Peggy,  I've  cut  my  finger! 
Oh,  come,  Peggy,  bring  a  rag  and  do  it  up ! "  and 
mother  by  the  cradle  said,  "Peggy,  do  take  the  baby 
a  minute  while  I  finish  mixing  the  brown-bread." 
Even  outside  the  cottage  door  father  was  saying, 
"Peggy,  dear,  bring  me  a  drink  of  water,"  as  he  tin- 
kered his  dory  close  by.  She  took  the  baby  from  her 
mother's  arms  and  went  to  the  woeful  brother.  "  Don't 
cry,  Willy,  dear,  run  to  mother  for  a  rag;  wait  a 
minute,  please,  father,"  —  and  Willie  having  brought 
a  little  strip  of  cotton,  she  sat  down  on  the  doorstep 
and  proceeded  to  bind  the  wounded  finger  while  the 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN     73 

baby  lay  cooing  on  her  knees.  "Now  run,  and  take 
some  water  to  father;  there  's  a  good  boy,"  she  said, 
as  she  wiped  the  tears  away  from  two  cheeks  like 
apples,  round  and  rosy.  And  Willy  scampered  for 
the  dipper,  and  carried  it  dripping  to  his  father,  and 
then  returned  to  nestle  close  to  his  sister's  side.  The 
baby  fretted  a  little,  and  Peggy  gathered  it  up  and 
laid  its  pretty  head  tenderly  against  her  shoulder  and 
crooned  to  it  soft  and  low :  — 

"  There  was  a  ship  a-sailing,  a-sailing  on  the  sea. 
And  oh!  it  was  all  laden  with  pretty  things  for  thee!  " 

till  it  opened  its  large  wise  eyes  and  gazed  out  at  the 
glitter  and  sparkle  of  the  bright  day,  and  tried  to  find 
its  mouth  with  its  thumb  in  an  aimless  but  contented 
fashion. 

"Sing  the  rest  of  it,  sister,"  begged  Willy. 

There  was  a  world  of  love  in  the  little  fellow's  ges- 
ture as  he  slipped  both  hands  around  Peggy's  arm  and 
hugged  it  tight  while  she  went  on :  — 

"  There  were  comfits  in  the  cabin  and  apples  in  the  hold, 
The  sails  were  made  of  silk  and  the  masts  were  made  of  gold: 
The  four-and-twenty  sailors  that  walked  about  the  decks 
Were  four-and-twenty  white  mice  with  chains  about  their  necks; 
The  captain  was  a  duck  with  a  compass  on  his  back, 
And  when  the  ship  began  to  sail,  the  captain  cried,  'quack, 
quack!'" 

"Now  sing  it  all  over  again!"  cried  Willy,  laying 
his  cheek  against  the  arm  he  was  hugging;  "do  please 
sing  it  all  over  again !  "  And  laughing,  patient  Peggy 
began  it  again. 


74    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

There  was  a  porch  outside  the  door,  and  the  shadow 
of  its  square  roof  fell  on  the  wooden  step  where  the 
children  sat.  There  were  vines  of  flowering-bean  and 
morning-glory  trained  up  at  the  sides,  all  blossoming 
in  scarlet  clusters  and  deep  blue  bells. 

It  was  a  hot,  bright  July  day.  Before  the  cottage 
stretched  the  level  beach  of  purplish-gray  shimmering 
sand;  and  beyond  it  the  summer  sea,  light  turquoise 
blue  and  calm,  lay  smiling,  streaked  with  lines  of  lazy 
foam  from  long-spent  breakers  far  away.  On  a  prom- 
onotory  reaching  to  the  east,  the  large  mass  of  the 
buildings  of  a  great  hotel  basked  in  the  heat,  its 
warmly  tinted  walls  and  red  roofs  dimly  beautiful  in 
the  soft  haze  of  the  distance.  The  pine  woods  were 
thick  behind  the  cottage  and  stretched  away  to  the 
south;  near  it  a  patch  of  earth  was  devoted  to  "garden 
stun0,"  —  potatoes,  beans,  and  the  like,  and  beyond 
this  was  a  flower-garden,  so  luxuriant  and  splendid  in 
color  that  one  wondered  at  seeing  it  in  so  poor  a  place. 

Peggy's  childish  voice  was  very  pleasant  to  hear  as 
she  sang  to  the  children. 

Her  father  and  mother  had  given  her  the  sweet  and 
stately  name  of  Margaret,  but  her  grandmother  had 
adopted  its  old-fashioned  abbreviation  of  Peggy,  and 
it  had  grown  dear  in  all  ears  where  she  was  known. 
She  was  a  girl  of  about  thirteen,  not  tall  for  her  age, 
but  slender,  with  rich,  red-gold  hair,  which  was  a 
great  cross  and  affliction  to  her;  for  every  one  who 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    75 

spoke  of  it  did  so  in  a  half-pitying  way,  as  if  it  were 
to  be  deprecated  at  least,  if  not  a  thing  of  which  to 
be  thoroughly  ashamed.  Such  vigorous,  rebellious 
hair,  too,  thronging  back  from  her  honest  forehead  in 
richly  waved,  thick  locks,  which  no  combing  would 
make  straight  and  smooth.  How  she  envied  the  sleek, 
satin  sheen  of  the  heads  of  the  few  girls  she  knew! 
Her  eyes  were  clear  and  gray,  her  mouth  large,  with 
fine  and  noble  curves  and  even,  white  teeth,  and  her 
fresh  cheek  was  touched  by  many  salutations  of  the 
sun.  No  one  would  ever  have  called  her  pretty,  —  the 
word  could  not  apply  to  her,  —  but  there  was  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  modesty  and  sweet  intelligence  about 
her  which  at  once  attracted  and  charmed. 

The  sunshine  flickered  through  the  leaves  and 
touched  her  bright  head  as  she  sat  with  the  little  ones 
in  the  porch.  Inside,  the  mother's  swift  step  went 
to  and  fro,  about  her  work;  by  the  open  window,  the 
grandmother's  knitting-needles  clicked  softly.  Out- 
side, there  were  the  sounds  of  bees  and  early  crickets, 
a  bird's  note  now  and  then,  the  call  of  a  sandpiper, 
the  song  of  a  sparrow,  or  a  cry  far  aloft  in  the  blue 
from  a  wandering  gull  afloat  on  white  wings,  ever  the 
low,  far  murmuring  of  the  sea,  and  again  and  again 
the  dull  strokes  of  the  hammer  with  which  the  father 
was  mending  his  boat.  As  he  moved  about,  it  was 
evident  he  was  lame;  a  long  sickness  in  the  winter 
had  left  him  "crippled,"  as  his  neighbors  said,  with 


76    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

rheumatism.  He  had  a  fine,  intelligent  face,  and  had 
not  always  lived  the  life  which  poverty  now  forced 
upon  him.  His  eyes  were  sad  and  anxious,  he  looked 
weather-heaten  and  worn,  and  his  expression  enlisted 
one's  sympathies  at  once.  He  was  fighting  a  hard 
fight  to  keep  the  wolf  from  his  door;  for  his  lameness 
made  it  extremely  difficult  to  go  fishing,  like  the  rest 
of  the  folk  living  near.  And  now,  since  the  attack 
of  illness  had  exhausted  every  resource,  very  slender 
at  the  best,  he  was  worn  with  anxiety  for  the  coming 
winter's  necessities.  In  summer  it  was  well  enough; 
they  could  make  a  shift  to  live  from  day  to  day;  but 
when  every  force  of  nature  should  be  marshaled  against 
them  in  the  bitter  weather  to  come,  how  would  they 
be  able  to  endure  it,  and  fight  want  away  till  another 
spring?  He  hardly  dared  to  think  of  it. 

Peggy  adored  her  father.  She  was  his  chief  and 
best  joy  in  the  world.  When  she  saw  him  so  full  of 
care,  and  heard  him  with  the  good  and  patient  mother 
discussing  ways  and  means  of  getting  bread,  when 
they  dreamed  not  she  was  listening,  she  would  have 
given  worlds  to  help  them.  Her  whole  mind  was  full 
of  the  problem.  What  could  she  do?  Leave  them 
and  go  away  and  try  to  earn  something  to  help?  But 
they  would  not  listen  to  it;  they  could  not  live  with- 
out her.  She  was  their  courage,  their  stay,  their  joy, 
and  cheer,  embodied.  One  winter's  day,  when  her 
father  was  at  his  worst,  and  she  felt  as  though  despair 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    77 

were  settling  down  upon  them,  she  remembered  the 
groups  of  idle  pleasure-seekers  she  had  seen  wandering 
across  the  sands  in  summer  days,  from  the  great  hotel 
on  the  Point.  "How  wonderful  must  be  their  lives, 
with  no  anxieties  like  ours ! "  she  thought.  As  the 
picture  of  these  loiterers  lingered  in  her  imagination, 
she  remembered  the  floAvers  they  wore,  the  buttonhole 
bouquets  of  the  men,  and  the  nosegays  of  the  maidens, 
and  like  a  flash  it  came  to  Peggy  what  she  might  do. 
She  might  have  a  garden  of  her  own,  and  sell  floAvers 
to  these  people  at  the  hotel,  —  why  not  ?  She  would 
try,  at  least.  She  told  her  mother  and  father  of  her 
thought;  but  they  did  not  give  it  much  weight  at 
first.  Still  she  was  not  daunted.  With  a  resolute 
energy  she  bent  all  powers  to  compass  it.  First,  she 
chose  a  piece  of  ground  wherein  some  former  occupant 
of  the  place  had  raised  vegetables;  it  was  partly  sur- 
rounded by  a  ruinous  wall  to  keep  out  stray  cattle, 
and  was  close  under  the  southern  windows  of  their 
rickety  little  cottage.  There  was  not  much  snow  upon 
the  ground,  and  every  day  she  went  to  the  beach  and 
brought  basket  after  basket  of  kelp,  which  she  spread 
upon  the  ground,  till  by  patience  and  perseverance 
she  had  covered  it  all  over.  It  was  not  an  easy  task, 
and  she  had  driftwood  to  bring  daily  from  the  beach, 
beside.  But  she  knew  how  much  more  hope  of  suc- 
cess she  would  have  if  only  she  could  spread  the  sea- 
weed and  leave  it  to  impart  its  nourishment  to  the 


78    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

sandy  soil;  and  when  it  was  done,  she  rejoiced  in 
every  rain  that  helped  it  to  decay.  The  next  thing 
was  to  get  seeds  for  her  garden.  And  when  her  father 
was  better,  so  that  she  could  be  spared,  she  took  long 
walks  inland  among  their  widely  scattered  neighbors 
to  beg  of  each  a  few;  for  every  house  had  its  little 
flower- plot  in  summer;  and  the  folk  were  kind  and 
gave  her  all  they  could  spare,  —  marigolds,  larkspur, 
sweet  peas  and  mignonette,  sunflowers,  nasturtiums, 
pansies,  and  coreopsis,  —  hardy,  humble  flowers, 
friendly  and  swift  to  grow. 

"I'm  sure  you're  welcome  to  'em,  child,"  Aunt 
Sally,  the  blacksmith's  wife,  had  said,  as  she  put  the 
packet  into  Peggy's  hand;  "and  I  hope  ye '11  do  all 
you're  thinkin'  to  with  'em;  but  I  calc' late  ye  have 
no  idea  what  a  job  't  is  to  take  care  on  'em,"  —  a  fact 
which  Peggy  did  indeed  discover  in  good  time.  "If 
ye  '11  come  up  in  the  spring,  I  '11  give  ye  a  root  o' 
lad's  love  and  lemon-balm ;  they  smell  very  sweet  an' 
pure,  but  they  don't  have  any  seeds  to  speak  on," 
the  old  lady  added. 

With  what  anxious  joy  Peggy  watched  for  the  first 
signs  of  spring!  As  soon  as  the  snow  was  melted,  she 
began  to  work  about  her  garden-plot,  every  day  a 
little,  as  long  as  she  could  be  spared.  With  her 
strong  young  arms  she  brought  stone  by  stone  to  the 
broken  wall  till  she  had  made  it  whole  again;  but  it 
was  a  work  of  days  and  weeks.  Then  little  by  little 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN  79 

she  raked  away  the  kelp.  But  the  most  difficult  part 
of  the  work  was  to  come,  to  dig  up  the  earth  thor- 
oughly,—  "could  she  do  it?"  she  wondered.  Here 
came  an  unexpected  help.  One  day  a  neighbor  with 
spritsail  spread  to  the  breeze,  flying  past  at  high  tide, 
came  so  near  that  he  made  out  what  Peggy  was  trying 
to  do  in  her  Availed  inclosure. 

"Wai,  if  that  don't  beat  all!"  he  said  to  himself; 
"if  there  isn't  Maxwell's  red-haired  gal  tryin'  to  dig 
a  garden!  Her  father  's  laid  up,  —  blest  if  she  has  n't 
spunk ! "  That  night,  after  supper,  he  walked  down 
from  "  his  place  "  and  presented  himself  with  a  broad 
spade  in  his  hand.  "Why  couldn't  ye  have  asked 
some  on  us  to  help  ye  ? "  he  cried,  with  rough  kind- 
ness; and  straightway  set  himself  to  work  with  such 
a  will  that  before  dark  it  was  all  done,  nor  would  he 
listen  to  her  thanks  as  he  went  off.  "  I  wish  ye  good 
luck  with  your  garden ! "  he  said,  and  so  departed, 
followed  by  Peggy's  gratitude. 

There  was  yet  much  work  to  be  done,  but  she  could 
do  it  all,  she  kneAv,  and  she  toiled  away  with  a  light 
heart,  till  she  had  raked  out  every  stone  and  laid  the 
beds  all  straight  and  even,  and  planted  every  seed; 
and  then  she  paused  to  rest.  By  this  time  her  father 
was  able  to  creep  about  a  little,  for  the  days  were 
growing  long,  and  he  looked  at  Peggy's  handiwork 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  was  too  helpless  to  do 
much  to  the  little  patch  where  every  year  he  tried  to 


80  PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 
raise  a  few  vegetables,  so  Peggy  put  her  young  shoulder 
to  that  wheel  also,  and  planted  the  beans  and  potatoes, 
and  gave  them  all  the  care  she  could.  Meantime  she 
rejoiced  in  the  fresh  showers  which  fell  to  moisten  the 
hidden  flower-seeds,  and  the  warm  sun  which  would 
coax  the  green  leaves  from  the  dark  earth.  Every 
turn  of  weather  had  a  new  interest  for  her,  every  hour 
was  bright  with  hope.  "I  declare,"  said  the  grand- 
mother, "it  does  me  good  just  to  see  the  child;  she  's 
brighter  than  a  summer  mornin' !  " 

Indeed  she  was,  so  full  of  cheer,  so  modest,  dutiful, 
and  patient,  the  kindest  little  heart  that  ever  beat  in 
human  breast,  always  ready  to  help  and  comfort  wher- 
ever comfort  was  needed!  Happy  girl!  Her  gentle 
nature  was  a  key  that  —  all  unconsciously  to  herself 
—  opened  for  her  rich  treasures  of  love  that  should 
not  fail. 

One  morning  in  the  last  week  in  May,  small  Willy 
came  running  in,  quite  breathless.  "  Peggy,  come  out 
and  look !  The  seeds  have  corned  up  all  in  a  row,  like 
little  green  so'diers!"  And  Peggy,  with  the  baby  on 
her  arm,  followed  the  delighted  little  fellow  to  the 
garden.  It  was  true,  at  last;  there  were  rows  of  corn- 
flowers and  marigolds  piercing  the  soil,  the  first  and 
strongest  of  them  all.  And  after  them,  day  after  day, 
came  the  rest  in  a  swift  procession,  till  it  seemed  as 
if  a  soft  green  veil  were  laid  over  the  earth.  Then 
began  work  indeed,  for  with  the  flowers  had  sprung 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN  81 

ten  thousand  weeds  more  vigorous  than  they.  But 
there  is  no  saying  truer  than  that  "where  there's  a 
will  there  's  a  way,"  and  Peggy,  not  being  able  to  get 
away  from  household  cares  during  the  day,  would  steal 
the  hours  from  sleep  to  accomplish  her  object.  It  was 
light  enough  to  see  between  three  and  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  many  and  many  a  pink  dawn  found 
her  kneeling  on  the  dewy  ground  (whereon  she  had 
spread  a  bit  of  carpet,  for  she  had  been  taught  never 
to  trifle  with  her  health),  weeding  industriously,  till 
there  was  not  a  green  thing  except  the  flowers  to  be 
seen  in  the  whole  place.  No  sooner  were  the  weeds 
conquered,  however,  than  they  rose  again,  a  second 
colony,  —  clover,  quitch-grass,  purslane,  chickweed, 
pigweed,  ragweed,  and  the  rest,  and  when  these  had 
been  exterminated,  then  came  transplanting,  separating 
the  crowded  plants,  putting  sticks  and  strings  along 
the  wall  for  the  vines  to  climb,  and  a  tiresome,  daily 
system  of  watering  to  be  carried  on,  without  which 
the  whole  attempt  would  have  been  a  failure.  Fortu- 
nately there  was  a  fine  well  near  the  house,  and  even 
little  Willie  could  help,  and  father  could  stand  and 
pump  for  them,  and  sometimes  bring  water,  too;  and 
so  at  last  the  reward  of  so  much  toil  and  care  was 
before  them.  The  garden  was  truly  a  beautiful  sight. 
Over  the  wall  the  nasturtiums  ran  like  flame,  and  the 
sweet  peas  climbed,  just  breaking  into  white  and  pink 
and  purple  and  wonderful  scarlet,  and  the  flowering- 


82    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

bean  clusters  were  almost  as  red  as  pomegranate  blos- 
soms. There  were  ranks  of  corn-flowers  in  lovely, 
delicate  rose  and  azure;  there  were  marigolds  and 
venidiums,  whole  solar  systems  of  suns  and  stars; 
there  were  golden  summer  chrysanthemums  and  Core- 
opsis coronata  superb  to  see,  and  phloxes  that  were 
like  masses  of  rich  velvet-scarlet,  maroon  and  pink  and 
crimson.  There  were  others  to  come,  asters  and  zin- 
nias and  sunflowers  later;  but  the  mignonette  had 
begun,  and  spikes  of  larkspur  —  burning,  brilliant 
blue  —  set  off  the  yellow  and  fire  colors,  and  the  Cali- 
fornia poppies  —  cups  of  flaming  gold  —  and  the  pied 
pansies,  and  crimson  flax,  and  pink  mallows!  Well 
might  the  whole  family  wonder  and  rejoice  over 
Peggy's  garden,  and  all  the  neighbors  make  pilgrimages 
to  see  it! 

And  now  at  last  it  was  time  for  the  great  attempt, 
and  she  was  trying  to  summon  all  her  courage  to  take 
on  the  morrow  her  first  flowers  to  the  hotel,  for  sale. 
A  kind  of  stage  fright  came  over  the  poor  child  at  this 
eleventh  hour.  After  all  her  brave  toil,  it  would 
seem  a  simple  thing  to  take  her  blossoms  and  pace 
quietly  the  long  piazzas  where  wealth  and  beauty  and 
idleness  would  give  her  the  daily  bread  for  herself  and 
her  dear  ones  in  exchange.  But  the  shy  girl  felt  as 
if  it  were  an  absolute  impossibility.  Suddenly  all  her 
courage  ebbed  and  left  her  in  deep  despondency.  She 
sat  by  the  little  window  in  the  grandmother's  old 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    83 

chair;  the  wind  that  wandered  through  the  beautiful 
summer  twilight  brought  her  the  delicate  sweet  odors 
from  her  garden  ;  their  sweetness  made  her  heart 
sink.  She  turned  from  the  open  casement.  In  the 
corner,  by  a  dim  little  lamp,  her  mother  was  mending 
the  worn  sleeves  of  her  father's  coat.  Peggy  looked 
at  her.  How  pale  and  patient  she  was!  The  cradle 
stood  near,  and  her  foot  sought  the  rocker  and  stirred 
it  gently  each  time  the  baby  nestled  uneasily;  in  the 
armchair  near,  her  father  had  fallen  asleep,  his  fine 
pathetic  face  faintly  touched  by  the  feeble  light.  His 
thin  hand  lay  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  How  thin  it 
was,  how  sad  his  sleeping  face!  Not  one  of  them 
had  quite  all  they  needed  to  eat  on  that  day;  and 
what  for  to-morrow  ?  Then  a  feeling  of  shame  at  her 
own  cowardice  came  to  Peggy's  rescue.  What  were 
ten  thousand  indifferent  eyes,  what  if  everybody  should 
laugh  at  her  red  hair  and  mean  apparel;  if  they  only 
would  buy  her  flowers,  she  would  not  care,  —  no,  she 
would  not!  She  would  be  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind  to 
everything  except  her  purpose.  She  left  the  window 
and  came  and  stood  beside  her  mother's  chair.  "Mo- 
ther, dear,  let  me  finish  it  for  you,"  she  said,  trying 
to  take  the  work  out  of  her  hands.  But  her  mother 
said,  "No,  Peggy,  darling,  don't  mind,  I've  nearly 
finished.  You  'd  better  go  to  bed  soon,  for  you  '11 
have  to  be  up  very  early,  you  know ; "  and  she  put  her 
arm  around  her  girl's  slender  figure  and  drew  her  close, 


84  PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 
and  laid  her  tired  head  against  the  brave  little  heart 
that  was  beating  fast  with  its  struggles  and  hopes  and 
fears.  Her  father  opened  his  eyes  upon  the  two,  — 
all  unconscious  of  his  gaze.  No  one  knew  better  than 
he  what  was  passing  in  his  daughter's  mind.  But  he 
had  no  word  with  which  to  comfort  her;  he  could 
only  cling  to  her  as  her  mother  was  doing,  and  bless 
her  with  all  his  soul,  as  she  came  to  give  him  a  good- 
night kiss. 

She  climbed  to  her  little  nest  under  the  eaves  and 
leaned  out  to  look  once  more  at  the  summer  night. 
The  calm  sea  mirrored  every  twinkling  star.  Here 
and  there  a  light  gleamed  from  some  fishing-schooner 
anchored  and  rocking  almost  imperceptibly  on  the 
softly  heaving  tide.  Afar  on  its  lonely  promontory 
stood  the  dark  mass  of  the  great  hotel,  ablaze  and 
quivering  with  electric  lights,  like  a  living  jewel  of 
many  facets.  So  great  a  hope,  so  great  a  fear  for  her 
trembled  in  its  glitter  and  gleam.  She  was  glad  she 
could  not  hear  the  band  that  she  knew  must  be  play- 
ing for  the  gay,  whirling  dancers  in  the  great  hall. 
"I  wonder  if  they  all  are  wearing  flowers  from  the 
city,"  she  thought,  "roses  and  delicate  things  so  differ- 
ent from  mine.  I  wonder  if  they  will  want  mine 
when  they  see  them !  Perhaps,  perhaps !  "  she  sighed. 

Little  Willy  was  asleep  in  the  low  cot;  he  half 
woke  as  she  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow,  and  possessed 
himself  of  her  arm,  hugging  it  again  with  both  his. 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    85 

"Dear  Peggy,"  he  said,  half  asleep,  "dear,  dear, 
dear!" 

The  morning  broke  calm  and  clear.  It  was  not 
four  o'clock  when  she  was  stealing  out  in  the  freshen- 
ing dawn  to  her  garden-plot.  The  sky  was  one  great 
flush  of  pink,  and  at  the  horizon  crimson  and  gold 
where  the  sun  approached  from  the  other  side,  and  all 
the  sea  reflected  the  sky. 

"Oh!"  thought  she,  "the  whole  world  looks  like  a 
rose ! "  as  she  pushed  the  gate  and  entered  the  path. 
How  the  birds  were  singing!  "Oh,  song  sparrow," 
she  cried  to  the  little  brown  creature  that  sat  on  the 
wall  and  poured  forth  such  a  strain  of  joy  that  it 
seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  cheer,  "are  you  really  so 
glad  as  that?  I  'd  like  to  change  places  with  you!  " 

She  cut  the  flowers  with  swift  and  dexterous  hands, 
and  filled  her  basket  heaping  full.  And  now  the  sun 
had  risen  in  still  magnificence,  and  touched  with 
golden  finger  the  sails  of  small  fishing-craft,  creeping 
out  to  the  day's  work,  and  the  snowy  wing's  of  lazy 
gulls  afloat  overhead  in  the  perfect  blue,  and  made  the 
bright  hair  of  our  Peggy  as  glorious  as  the  marigolds 
she  was  tying  into  bunches  as  she  sat  on  the  little 
step  with  her  basket  and  a  spool  of  thread.  Some 
dim  artistic  sense  led  her  to  mass  each  color  separately. 
All  the  scarlet  sweet  peas  she  put  together.  So  with 
the  pink  and  the  purple  and  the  white;  so  with  the 
red  poppies,  to  which  she  added  a  few  delicate  grasses, 


86    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

and  with  the  mignonette;  but  with  the  pale-yellow 
summer  chrysanthemums  she  put  a  few  orange  mari- 
golds, and  made  of  their  radiant  disks  a  splendid 
conflagration  of  color.  There  were  small  and  large 
bunches  to  be  tied,  and  buttonhole  bouquets;  and 
when  all  were  done,  she  put  them  into  a  wooden  tub 
with  a  few  inches  of  water,  and  left  it  in  the  cool  dark 
of  the  cellar  till  she  should  be  ready  to  take  them 
away.  But  the  slender  breakfast  was  to  lie  helped  on 
and  the  family  started  for  the  day,  before  she  could 
leave  them.  The  baby,  usually  so  good  and  quiet, 
would  fret;  it  seemed  to  be  out  of  sorts. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  Peggy  said  to  herself,  "you  are 
hungry;  that  is  the  trouble,  I  know,  for  you  are  the 
best  little  sister  in  the  world." 

The  grandmother  was  full  of  aches  and  pains  this 
morning,  but  she  said,  "I'll  keep  the  baby,  Peggy, 
dear;  you  go  and  get  ready  before  the  sun  grows  so 
hot  that  you  '11  suffer  going  across  the  sands.  Here  's 
something  to  wear  on  your  head,  child,"  and  she  drew 
out  of  her  pocket  a  nicely  folded  blue  handkerchief; 
"it's  better  than  nothing,"  she  said,  "though  it's 
faded  and  old  enough."  Poor  Peggy!  She  had  no 
hat  at  all;  the  handkerchief  was,  as  grandmother  said, 
better  than  nothing,  —  that  was  all. 

"Go,  now,  and  walk  very  slowly,  dear,"  her  mother 
said.  She  brought  a  long  and  broad  shallow  basket, 
into  which  they  put  the  flowers,  and  over  all  laid 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    87 

lightly  some  newspapers,  which  were  tucked  carefully 
in  around  the  edges,  to  save  her  treasures  from  wind 
and  sun.  She  had  but  her  one  gown  to  wear,  a  dull, 
dark-blue  cotton  print,  made  in  the  simplest  fashion, 
with  neither  frill  nor  furbelow.  She  had  no  time 
for  such,  nor  means  if  she  had  had  time.  Her  thick, 
bright  locks  were  plaited  into  one  long,  rich  braid 
with  the  ends  left  loose,  for  she  had  not  even  a  bit  of 
ribbon  wherewith  to  tie  it.  She  knotted  the  blue 
kerchief  under  her  chin,  kissed  them  all  as  if  she  were 
bidding  the  family  farewell  for  a  month,  and  set  off 
with  her  basket  on  her  arm.  Willy  cried  to  go  too, 
but  it  was  too  far  for  his  little  feet  to  trudge,  or  she 
would  gladly  have  taken  him.  They  watched  her 
from  the  door  till  her  figure  lessened  to  a  mere  speck 
on  the  sand.  How  would  she  return  to  them,  —  with 
failure  or  success?  They  hardly  dared  to  think! 

Meantime,  the  little  maid  kept  courageously  on  her 
way.  The  sun  was  high  and  hot,  but  a  breath  of 
coolness  came  from  the  waves  which  spilled  themselves 
in  long  breakers  of  lazy  brine  along  the  edge  of  the 
sand.  But  she  hardly  noticed  the  heat,  or  the  cool, 
whispering  water;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  great 
building  before  her,  which  began  to  grow  more  distinct 
every  moment.  Windows,  doors,  chimneys,  roofs, 
gables,  columns,  gradually  disentangled  themselves; 
and  she  saw  knots  of  people  here  and  there,  and  a 
crowd  scattered  on  the  long  piazza;  and  before  the 


88    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 
house  on  the  level  green,  youths  and  maidens,  gayly 
clad,  were  playing  tennis,  careless  of  the  sun.     Like 
a  soldier  marching  to  battle,  Peggy  walked  past  these, 
straight  up  to  one  of  the  three  broad  nights  of  steps, 

the  one  at  the  left-hand  entrance.      She  dared  not 

look  about  her,  for  she  felt  many  eyes  upon  her  as  she 
set  her  basket  down  on  the  lower  step  and  took  off 
the  protecting  newspapers,  folding  them  for  future 
use.  She  slipped  the  grandmother's  old  kerchief  off 
her  head,  she  was  so  warm,  and  began  to  climb  the 
stairs  slowly  and  with  sinking  heart.  She  stood  still 
at  last,  with  down-dropped  eyes  and  blushing  cheeks, 
feeling  all  the  dreaded  eyes  upon  her,  and  wishing  she 
were  a  plover,  to  fly  home  by  the  breakers'  edge. 
Suddenly  a  child's  voice  at  her  side  said,  "Oh,  look 
at  the  pretty  flowers,  mamma!  I  want  some;  please 
buy  some  for  me ! "  and  a  lovely  lady  in  black  spoke 
to  her  gently.  Peggy  started  like  a  frightened  sand- 
piper, though  the  lady  only  said,  "How  lovely  your 
flowers  are,  my  dear!  May  I  have  some?  What  is 
the  price  of  this  bunch  of  sweet  peas  ? "  and  she  drew 
a  mass  of  fragrant  scarlet  flowers  out  of  the  basket, 
while  the  little  girl  who  had  begged  stretched  out  both 
hands  for  them. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Minnie.     How  much  are  they  ?  " 
she  asked  of  Peggy. 

"Twenty-five   cents,"   Peggy   ventured   in    answer; 
and  the  lady  drew  the  coin  from  her  purse  and  laid  it 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN  89 

in  Peggy's  happy  palm.  The  contact  seemed  to  give 
her  new  life,  and  her  eyes  grew  moist  with  joy.  She 
sent  a  swift  glance  out  over  the  hot  coast-line  to  where 
she  knew  her  poor  little  home  lay,  a  mere  speck  in  the 
melting  distance,  but  oh,  how  dear  it  seemed!  And 
her  hope  grew  strong  and  her  fears  less,  and  she  held 
the  precious  piece  of  silver  tight,  lest  it  should  take 
wings  and  fly  away  from  her. 

But  now  the  contents  of  Peggy's  basket  began  to 
disappear  with  surprising  rapidity,  faster  and  faster, 
till  more  than  half  her  nosegays  were  sold,  and  she 
was  quite  breathless  with  joy.  Nothing  had  ever 
looked  so  beautiful  to  her  as  the  coins  of  silver  she 
held  in  her  hand,  which  soon  grew  too  small  to  hold 
them  all.!  They  meant  bread  for  her  hungry  dear 
ones;  they  meant  joy  for  that  little  home  saddened  by 
poverty.  She  cared  no  more  what  people  said,  what 
they  thought ;  she  was  sure  of  success  for  to-day ;  she 
held  already  help  for  to-morrow  in  her  delighted  hands. 

"May  I  have  this  pansy  for  my  buttonhole?"  said 
a  fine  deep  voice  at  her  ear.  She  started,  and  turned 
and  gave  the  speaker  the  last  little  bunch  she  had  left. 
He  put  the  flowers  in  their  place,  and  took  from  the 
basket  two  bunches  of  white  sweet  peas  and  slipped 
the  money  into  her  hand. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  very  gently,  "who  taught  you 
to  put  the  colors  in  masses  like  these  ?  Why  do  you 
do  it?" 


90  PEGGY'S  GAKDEN,  AND  WHAT  GBEW  THEREIN 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered;  "they  are  prettier 
so,"  and  she  shyly  proceeded  to  rearrange  the  nosegays 
she  had  left. 

"  Why  do  you  put  grass  with  the  poppies  ? "  he 
asked.  "  Did  any  one  tell  you  to  do  it  ? " 

"No,"  she  said;  "but  I  always  think  they  belong 
together." 

"Yes,  they  do,"  he  said;  "but  who  told  you  so?" 

"No  one  ;  they  told  me,  themselves,"  she  an- 
swered, smiling  a  little. 

"Fortunate  child!"  he  said;  "they  don't  tell  every 
one,  though  it 's  an  open  secret." 

He  was  moving  away,  with  his  hands  full  of  sweet 
peas,  when  he  seemed  to  remember  something,  and 
came  back. 

"Will  you  come  with  me,"  he  said,  "and  bring 
your  basket  to  a  lady  who  is  not  strong  enough  to 
come  so  far  down  the  piazza  ?  " 

Peggy  followed  silently,  and  in  a  sheltered  corner, 
shaded  carefully  from  the  sun,  she  found  one  of  the 
loveliest  sights  she  had  ever  seen.  A  lady,  sixty 
years  old,  perhaps,  was  lying  back  in  a  reclining  chair, 
and  about  her  several  people  sat  quietly  chatting. 
The  lady's  face  was  as  fair  as  lilies,  with  eyes  clear 
and  undimmed  by  her  sixty  years.  Her  smile  was 
sweeter  than  any  smile  Peggy  had  ever  seen.  Her 
hair  was  like  silvered  snow  over  her  calm  forehead, 
and  she  wore  above  this  shining  hair  a  little  cap  of 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    91 

lace  as  delicate  as  if  woven  of  cobwebs  and  hoar-frost, 
with  a  bit  of  white  satin  ribbon  like  a  moonbeam 
folded  on  the  top. 

"She  is  beautiful  as  my  sweet  peas,"  thought  Peggy, 
as  Mr.  Willard  put  the  flowers  into  her  lovely  hands; 
"they  just  suit  her." 

"  I  've  brought  you  some  posies,  Mrs.  Burton,  as 
you  see,"  said  her  friend;  "and  here  is  the  little  girl 
who  knows  all  about  them." 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful !  "  cried  Mrs.  Burton,  in  a  de- 
lightful, sympathetic  voice;  "a  thousand  thanks! 
And,"  turning  to  Peggy,  "you  brought  them,  my 
dear?  Come  nearer  and  let  me  see  what  else  you 
have.  Why,  these  are  wonderful!  Look  at  them, 
my  daughter,"  she  said  to  a  sweet  young  girl  who  sat 
close  beside  her.  "Why,  Nelly,  did  you  ever  see 
anything  like  them?  What  color,  what  Oriental 
splendor!  Where  did  you  get  them?  tell  me,  my 
child !  I  must  have  them  all,  every  one ;  let  me  see, 
here  are  eight  bouquets,  five  large  and  three  smaller; 
twenty-five  cents,  did  you  say  ?  Here  it  is ;  just  two 
dollars.  What  is  it,  — these  small  bunches  only  ten? 
Oh,  never  mind,  I  'm  sure  they  're  worth  quite  as 
much  as  the  large  ones.  There,  Nelly  dear,  that 's 
for  you,  and  this  for  you,  and  you,  and  you,"  she 
said,  laughing  delightfully,  as  she  gave  one  to  each 
person  about  her.  "There,  now,  we  all  are  happy, 
aren't  we?  And  next,  I  wish  to  know  all  about  these 


92    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 
extraordinary  flowers;  sit  down  here,   my  dear,   and 
tell  me." 

Peggy  did  as  she  was  bid,  though  she  longed  to  fly 
home,  since  her  task  was  done  for  that  day,  but  the 
lady  had  been  so  kind  she  could  not  refuse ;  indeed, 
no  one  could  ever  refuse  that  lady  anything !  When, 
by  gentle  questioning,  she  had  won  from  Peggy  all 
her  story,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  little  girl's  bright 
hair  with  a  beautiful  gesture  of  affectionate  protection; 
but  she  made  no  comment,  she  asked  only,  "Are  you 
coming  to-morrow,  my  dear,  to  bring  some  more 
flowers?  Don't  fail,  for  we  all  want  them." 

With  joy  Peggy  answered,  "Yes,  indeed,  I  will 
come ! " 

"  Remember,  I  wish  a  fresh  bouquet  every  morning, 
and  one  for  Nelly,  too.  Now,  I  know  you  're  longing 
to  get  back ;  you  shall  go ; "  and  Peggy  took  up  her 
empty  basket,  her  eyes  bright  with  tears  of  delight. 

"  You  dear  child, "  said  the  sweet  young  lady  whom 
her  mother  called  Nelly,  "did  you  wear  no  hat  all 
that  long  way  across  the  hot  sand  1 " 

"No,"  answered  Peggy;  "I  didn't  mind,  I  had  my 
grandmother's  handkerchief;  it  did  very  well,"  and 
she  took  it  out  of  her  pocket  to  tie  again  over  her 
bright  hair. 

The  younger  lady  reached  behind  her  mother's  chair 
and  took  a  straw  hat  from  where  it  hung  by  its  strings, 
and  quietly  placed  it  on  Peggy's  head.  It  was  a 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    93 

broad-brimmed  hat  of  beautiful  braided  white  straw; 
simply  trimmed  with  some  soft,  white  mull,  light  as 
the  foam  of  the  sea.  The  child  could  scarcely  believe 
her  ears  when  the  lady  said,  "There,  dear,  it's  for 
you.  Don't  come  out  in  the  sun  without  it  again !  " 
and  kissed  her  cheek.  "Now,  good- by.  Don't  say 
a  word.  Run  home." 

"  Thank  you,  oh,  thank  you !  "  cried  Peggy. 

Eun  home  ?  She  did  not  run,  she  flew !  She  did 
not  look  behind  her,  she  thought  of  nothing  but  the 
joy  she  was  taking  to  those  anxious  hearts  who  were 
expecting  her.  As  her  swift  steps  covered  the  distance 
between  her  and  that  cottage  of  her  love,  she  seemed 
to  tread  on  air;  she  forgot  she  was  hungry  and  hot 
and  tired;  she  could  not  stop  a  moment  to  rest;  while 
under  the  shade  of  the  pretty  hat  her  cheeks  burned 
and  eyes  glistened  with  a  joy  too  great  to  be  told. 

Meantime,  the  watchers  in  the  cottage  counted  the 
moments  of  her  absence;  and  when  at  last  her  slight 
figure  became  visible,  yet  a  long,  long  way  off,  little 
Willy  rushed  forth  to  meet  her. 

"Stop,  Willy,  wait  for  me,"  his  father  cried,  mov- 
ing slowly  down  the  steps.  "Take  hold  of  my  hand, 
Willy;  we'll  go  together."  But  she  came  so  fast 
that  the  two  slow  walkers  had  gone  only  a  short  way 
before  she  caught  up  to  them,  quite  breathless,  and 
flung  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck,  and  cried, 
"  Oh,  father,  I  sold  them  all ! "  throwing  her  empty 


94    FKOGY'B  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

basket  as  far  as  she  could,  till  it  rolled  over  and  over 
on  the  sand,  while  she  hugged  him  and  kissed  him 
again  and  again.  And  what  a  story  she  had  to  tell 
when  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  all  together  again 
in  the  humble  little  room,  and  she  spread  out  all  her 
precious  earnings  on  the  table  before  them.  There 
were  eight  dollars  in  silver  pieces,  —  it  was  incredible ! 
What  rejoicing,  what  happiness! 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  cried  Peggy,  suddenly  growing  quite 
white,  "I  'm  so  hungry!  Is  there  anything  to  eat?  " 

"My  dear,  my  dear!  Here  is  your  bowl  of  por- 
ridge, the  last  oatmeal  we  have  in  the  house.  I  saved 
it  for  you ; "  and  she  set  it  before  the  tired  girl ;  for  it 
was  quite  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  many  hours 
since  the  scant  breakfast.  Well  might  she  be  hungry 
with  all  she  had  gone  through ! 

"  But,  mother  dear,  as  soon  as  I  rest  a  little,  I  '11 
go  up  to  the  village  for  what  we  need." 

"No,  indeed,  my  darling,  I  will  go;  you  mind  the 
baby  and  rest  all  you  can.  But  where  did  you  get 
the  beautiful  hat?"  And  Peggy  told,  and  there  were 
smiles  and  tears,  and  kisses  and  congratulations  afresh. 

"Here  's  your  kerchief  all  safe,  grandmother  dear," 
she  said,  taking  it  carefully  out  of  her  pocket. 

"  Oh,  Peggy,  you  're  a  blessing  to  us ! "  the  old 
woman  sighed;  "I  always  said  you  were  not  born  on 
Sunday  for  nothing.  And  you  are  going  with  your 
flowers  again  to  the  hotel,  to-morrow  ? " 


PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN    95 

"Yes,  going  again  to-morrow,"  Peggy  cried,  all  her 
terrors  blown  to  the  winds. 

"My  Margaret,  my  little  Peggy,  my  bravo  girl!" 
her  father  said,  with  tender  pride. 

The  group  she  had  left  at  the  hotel  had  watched 
her  depart  with  no  common  interest. 

"What  a  really  beautiful  creature!"  Mr.  Willard 
had  said  when  she  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  Yes,  and  what  a  beautiful  soul ! "  cried  the  enthu- 
siastic old  lady.  "Now,  I  am  going  to  be  that  child's 
fairy  godmother.  That  is  settled!  You  shall  see! 
She  shall  have  everything  she  needs.  She  shall  have 
all  her  people  taken  care  of  and  put  in  the  way  of 
helping  themselves,  and  she  shall  not  be  separated 
from  them,  for  that  would  break  her  heart;  but  she 
shall  have  an  education,  and  all  her  gifts  and  graces 
shall  be  cultivated  for  her  own  joy  and  the  joy  of  all 
who  come  in  contact  with  her ! " 

"I  told  her  she  was  a  fortunate  child,"  said  Mr. 
Willard,  smiling,  "but  I  hardly  knew  how  fortunate; 
yet  I  think  you  are  more  fortunate  in  having  the 
power  to  do  these  beautiful  things." 

"Why,  what  is  the  use  of  money  but  for  such 
things  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Of  what  good  is  my  money 
to  me  if  I  cannot  use  it  to  make  people  better  and 
happier  ? " 

And  so  she  did  all  that  she  promised  herself  she 
would  do  for  Peggy  and  Peggy's  family.  She  allowed 


96    PEGGY'S  GARDEN,  AND  WHAT  GREW  THEREIN 

her  to  go  on  selling  the  flowers  while  they  lasted,  watch- 
ing her  daily,  growing  to  love  her  more  and  more,  and 
to  admire  and  respect  her,  as  did  all  who  came  near 
her.  Before  the  garden  was  exhausted,  Peggy  had 
made  three  hundred  dollars  for  her  father,  —  a  fortune, 
it  seemed  to  them  all!  No  more  fears  for  the  winter 
now!  At  home  they  fairly  worshiped  her,  and  she 
was  so  happy  that  she  no  longer  envied  the  song 
sparrow  as  it  sang  on  the  garden  wall,  the  only  bird 
that  stays  to  sing  the  summer  through.  "I'm  just  as 
glad  as  you  are,"  she  said,  as  she  watched  it  and 
listened  to  its  sweet  warble;  and  it  turned  its  pretty 
head  and  looked  at  her  with  bright  black  eyes,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I  know  it,  merry  comrade,  and  you 
deserve  it,  too !  " 

And  this  is  what  grew  in  Peggy's  garden.  She 
planted  more  than  the  flowers.  She  sowed  seeds  of 
patience  and  meekness  and  faithfulness,  courage  and 
hope  and  love,  —  and  glorious  was  the  blossoming 
thereof. 


ALMOST   A   TKAGEDY 

"CHRISTINE!  May  we  come  in  and  see  you  to- 
night, Christine  ? "  The  children,  peeping  in  at  the 
kitchen  door,  pushed  it  wide  and  danced  over  the 
threshold,  delighted  at  the  smile  which  greeted  them. 

There  were  three  of  them,  Sylvia  Hastings  and  her 
little  brother  Charlie,  and  Archie,  a  boy  of  fourteen, 
at  home  for  the  winter  holidays.  Dearly  they  loved 
to  visit  Christine  in  her  bright  kitchen,  and  no  won- 
der, for  both  the  place  and  its  occupant  were  most 
cheerful,  to  say  nothing  of  the  charms  of  Minzie,  the 
sleek  Maltese  cat  that  lay  basking  on  the  mat  in  the 
red  glow  of  the  fire,  and  the  absurd  old  gray  parrot 
that  sat  muffled  up  in  his  feathers  on  a  perch  in  the 
corner  of  the  room.  It  was  early  dusk  of  the  winter 
day,  sharp  and  cold;  a  thin,  crisp  layer  of  snow  cov- 
ered the  ground  without,  and  made  the  warmth  and 
brightness  within  more  delightful.  And  as  for  Chris- 
tine, the  Norwegian  maid  who  kept  the  house,  she 
was  as  refreshing  as  morning  sunshine,  with  her  rosy 
cheeks  and  milk-white  skin,  and  rich  hair  piled  in  a 
beautiful  red-gold  heap  at  the  top  of  her  head.  The 
children  adored  her,  and  her  employers  blessed  the  land 


98  ALMOST  A   TRAGEDY 

of  Norway  for  having  produced  anything  so  charming 
and  so  satisfactory. 

"Now,  what  are  you  doing,  Christine?"  asked 
Sylvia,  as  they  stood  by  the  table  and  peered  into  a 
dull,  red  earthen  dish  filled  with  water,  in  which  lay 
potatoes  peeled  as  smooth  as  ivory.  "What  are  those 
things  ?  Potatoes  1  Are  n't  they  pretty,  Archie  ? 
They  look  just  like  ivory !  " 

"  Take  me  up  and  show  me ! "  cried  little  Charlie, 
and  Archie  lifted  him  so  that  he  could  peep,  too. 
Christine  laid  a  clean  towel  on  the  table,  spread  the 
potatoes  on  it,  rolled  them  about  in  it  till  they  were 
quite  dry,  then  put  them  into  a  shallow  tin  pan  which 
she  had  buttered,  and  shook  them  till  they  all  shone 
with  a  thin  coat  of  butter. 

"What  are  they  for?"  asked  Sylvia. 

"To  bake  for  your  supper,  Miss  Sylvia,"  answered 
Christine. 

"  But  why  do  you  butter  them  ?  " 

"Oh,  so  they  may  bake  a  lovely  light  brown,  and 
the  skin  you  will  not  have  to  take  off  at  all ! "  an- 
swered she. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Sylvia,  "they  are  so 
good!;-'  and  while  Christie  went  on  with  her  prepara- 
tions for  supper,  all  three  sat  themselves  down  on  the 
neat  braided  mat  beside  Minzie,  the  sleepy,  comfortable 
cat.  She  stretched  her  long  length  out  slowly,  and 
really  seemed  to  smile  at  the  children,  as  she  lay  in 


ALMOST   A   TRAGEDY  99 

the  ruddy  firelight  with  her  eyes  half  shut,  lazily 
responding  to  their  caresses.  She  put  out  her  paw, 
its  sharp  claws  softly  sheathed,  and  with  a  deprecat- 
ing gesture  gently  patted  their  hands,  as  if  she  were 
boxing  her  pet  kitten's  ears. 

" Pretty  Minzie !"  Archie  said;  "you  are  so  good- 
natured,  and  you  know  so  much !  " 

"Good-evening,  good-evening!  Won't  you  take  a 
walk  1  "  cried  a  harsh  voice  from  the  corner. 

"It's  Polly!"  cried  Sylvia.  "Oh,  you  ridiculous 
old  bird !  How  you  startled  me !  " 

"What  have  you  got  in  your  pocket?"  Polly  con- 
tinued, turning  her  head  this  way  and  that,  and  eying 
the  children  askance. 

"Poor  Polly!  Not  a  thing!"  said  Sylvia.  "I 
wish  I  had  thought  to  save  some  nuts  for  you." 

"  What  does  Polly  want  ?  What  does  Polly  want ! " 
cried  the  bird,  and  then  began  to  utter  sounds  no  lan- 
guage can  describe;  sounds  which  more  nearly  resem- 
bled the  racket  of  a  watchman's  rattle  gone  distracted 
than  anything  else  I  can  think  of. 

Minzie  raised  her  head  and  looked  toward  the  corner 
where  Polly  was  perched,  and  then  settled  comfortably 
back  again,  blinking  her  green  eyes. 

"Wise  kitty!"  said  Archie. 

"Indeed  she  is  wise,"  said  Sylvia.  "What  do  you 
think  she  did,  Archie  1  When  we  fed  the  birds  under 
the  dining-room  window,  she  hid  in  the  hedge  and 


100  ALMOST  A   TKAGEDY 

pounced  on  a  bird  every  day,  till  mamma  at  last  gave 
up  feeding  them  at  all,  for  it  seemed  cruel  to  lead 
them  into  a  trap  like  that.  Well,  what  does  Minzie 
do  then  but  steal  a  piece  of  bread  from  the  kitchen 
and  carry  it  out  on  the  snow,  and  there  bite  it  and 
crumble  it  herself,  and  scratch  and  scatter  the  crumbs 
all  about.  Then  she  hid  in  the  hedge,  the  sly  thing! 
and  watched.  Down  came  the  birds,  —  poor  little 
hungry  dears,  and  Minzie  sprang  and  caught  one,  and 
off  she  went  with  him  to  eat  him  up  behind  a  bush. 
Oh,  you  naughty,  naughty  cat ! "  continued  Sylvia, 
lifting  her  finger  and  shaking  her  head  at  the  comfort- 
able creature,  who  only  blinked  in  supreme  indiffer- 
ence and  content.  "  I  wonder  at  you !  How  can  you  be 
so  cruel  ? " 

"But  she  isn't  naughty,  Syl,"  said  Archie.  "Cats 
were  made  to  catch  birds,  don't  you  know  it? " 

"Well,  /wouldn't  pounce  on  poor  little  birds  and 
eat  them,  if  I  were  a  cat,"  cried  Sylvia. 

"And  I  wouldn't  eat  'ittle  birds,"  said  Charlie, 
making  up  a  virtuous,  wee  mouth,  which  Sylvia  stooped 
to  kiss  at  once,  it  was  so  irresistible. 

"But  you  do  eat  them,  Syl,"  Archie  said.  "You 
are  just  as  bad  as  Minzie."  Sylvia  turned  to  him  a 
shocked  little  face.  "What  do  you  mean,  Archie?" 
she  said. 

"Why,  Syl  dear,  didn't  I  see  twelve  small  birds 
served  up  on  a  dish  yesterday  at  dinner,  and  did  n't 


ALMOST  A   TRAGEDY  101 

you  eat  one,  all  but  his  bones  ?  And  all  their  claws 
were  curled  up  so  pitifully  above  them,  too ! " 

"Oh,  but,  Archie,  that's  something  quite  different! 
Those  birds  were  bought  at  the  butcher's,  you  know." 

"Never  mind,"  interrupted  Archie;  "it  is  very 
nearly  the  same  thing.  You  were  made  to  eat  some 
kinds  of  birds  as  well  as  kitty,  so  don't  you  blame  her 
for  doing  what  you  do  yourself.  Don't  you  remember 
when  papa  was  reading  to  mamma  last  night  in  a  book 
called  'Emerson's  Essays,'  how  astonished  mamma 
was  when  he  read  this,  '  Only  the  butcher  stands  be- 
tween us  and  the  tiger,'  or  something  like  that,  and 
how  they  talked  about  it  afterward?  The  cat  is  a 
little  tiger,  —  she  belongs  to  the  same  family. " 

"Yes,  I  heard  them  talking,"  said  Sylvia,  "but  I 
didn't  understand." 

"Well,  never  mind,  dear,"  her  brother  answered; 
"I  don't  think  it  is  very  easy  to  understand.  We 
need  n't  trouble  ourselves  about  it.  Only,  don't  you 
blame  poor  Minzie  for  doing  what  she  was  made  to 
do."  Sylvia  shook  her  head  thoughtfully;  she  found 
it  a  very  hard  riddle  to  read.  Most  of  us  do. 

"  Ship  ahoy ! "  cried  a  harsh  voice  from  the  corner. 
"Good-morning,  dear!  How  do  you  do?  What  have 
you  got  in  your  pocket  ?  Polly  wants  a  cracker !  Good 
gracious !  Wish  you  happy  New  Year !  " 

They  all  broke  into  laughter,  Christine's  merry 
voice  mingling  in  the  chorus.  Minzie  rose  from  the 


102  ALMOST  A   TRAGEDY 

mat,  stretched  herself,  slowly  crossed  the  room  to 
where  Polly  sat  chattering  on  her  perch,  and  began  to 
play  with  the  chain  by  which  the  bird  was  fastened, 
giving  the  loop  a  push  with  her  paw  where  it  hung 
down,  striking  it  every  time  it  swung  within  reach. 
The  parrot  watched  her  meanwhile  with  the  greatest 
interest.  "Miaw!"  cried  Polly  suddenly.  Minzie 
stopped  and  looked  up.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "  shouted  the 
bird,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Did  you  think  it  was  an- 
other cat  ? "  and  forthwith  began  to  scream  afresh, 
crowing  like  a  cock,  barking  like  a  dog,  imitating  the 
creaking  of  a  door,  and  then  suddenly  going  into  a 
frenzy  of  sneezing  and  coughing  and  snuffling  like  a 
person  in  the  most  desperate  stages  of  influenza. 

Minzie  sat  still,  looking  up  at  the  bird,  as  if  she 
enjoyed  the  performance;  and  as  for  the  children,  they 
laughed  till  they  were  tired. 

"Truly,  they  are  the  best  of  friends,  the  two,"  said 
Christie.  "I  don't  know  what  one  would  do  without 
the  other;  they  play  with  each  other  by  the  hour 
together." 

"Come,  Sylvia,  bring  Charlie  upstairs;  it  is  time," 
called  mamma's  voice;  and  away  the  children  skipped. 

Christie  went  to  and  fro  about  her  work,  —  the 
pleasantest  picture  imaginable.  "I  think  I'll  set  my 
bread  to  rising  before  supper,"  she  said  to  herself; 
"then  I  shall  have  more  time  to  write  my  letter  home 
this  evening."  So  she  worked  fast  and  busily,  and 


ALMOST   A   TRAGEDY  103 

when  the  bread  was  made,  she  put  it  in  a"  large  wooden 
bowl  and  covered  it  up  with  a  nice  white  towel,  and 
left  it  to  rise  on  the  dresser.  The  cat  and  the  parrot 
watched  all  these  operations  with  an  interest  that 
amused  her,  —  it  was  so  human. 

After  supper,  when  she  had  done  all  her  work  and 
everything  was  in  order  for  the  night,  she  bade  good- 
evening  to  Minzie  and  Polly,  and  went  upstairs  to 
write  her  weekly  letter  to  her  dear,  far-off  Norway. 
Her  room  was  very  warm  and  comfortable,  and  as 
fresh  and  tidy  as  herself.  She  set  her  lamp  down  on 
the  table,  took  out  her  little  portfolio  from  the  drawer, 
and  began  to  write.  She  wrote  slowly,  and  had  been 
busy  about  an  hour  when  she  heard  a  loud,  distressed 
"  Miaw ! "  outside  her  door.  She  looked  up.  "  Miaw ! 
Miaw !  Miaw ! "  sounded  quickly  and  anxiously  from 
Minzie.  Evidently  something  unusual  was  the  mat- 
ter. She  had  never  heard  so  anxious  a  cry  from  that 
comfortable  cat  before. 

"  Why,  what  is  it  1 "  she  cried,  as  she  rose  and 
opened  the  door.  Minzie  sprang  in,  apparently  greatly 
excited,  with  her  tail  upright  and  curling  at  the  top. 
She  ran  round  and  round  Christie,  rubbing  herself 
against  the  girl's  ankles,  and  looking  up  into  her  face 
with  a  most  curious  expression  of  solicitude  and  agita- 
tion. "What  is  the  matter?  What  is  the  trouble, 
Minzie  ? "  Christie  kept  asking,  as  if  the  poor  dumb 
creature  could  explain  her  distress  in  words.  But 


104  ALMOST  A   TRAGEDY 

Minzie  only  "miawed"  more  distractedly  than  before; 
she  went  toward  the  door,  looking  back  at  Christie, 
then  ran  to  her  again,  took  hold  of  her  apron  with 
her  teeth,  and  tried  to  drag  her  toward  the  door. 
"You  want  me  to  go  downstairs?  " 

The  cat  frisked  before  her,  turning  to  see  if  she 
were  following;  then,  as  if  satisfied,  she  fled  lightly 
and  swiftly  down  the  stair  and  into  the  kitchen, 
Christie  coming  after,  bearing  the  lamp  in  her  hand. 
When  she  reached  the  kitchen  door  she  heard  a  cry 
from  the  parrot. 

"Come,  come,  come!"  cried  Polly.  "Good  gra- 
cious! Won't  you  take  a  walk?  " 

The  voice  did  not  proceed  from  the  bird's  accus- 
tomed corner,  and  looking  about,  the  first  thing 
Christie  saw  was  the  linen  towel  she  had  spread  over 
the  bread,  on  the  floor,  and  Minzie  standing  up  on  her 
hind  paws  with  her  two  white-mittened  fore-feet  at 
the  edge  of  the  table,  craning  her  head  forward  and 
crying  piteously.  There,  in  the  middle  of  the  large 
pan  of  soft  dough,  sat  Polly,  sunk  to  her  shoulders  in 
the  sticky  mass,  only  her  neck  and  head  with  its  huge 
black  beak  and  glassy  yellow  eyes,  to  be  seen.  She 
had  pulled  the  towel  off  the  bread,  and,  in  process  of 
investigating  it,  had  become  fastened  in  the  thick  paste, 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper  till  she  was  in  danger  of 
disappearing  altogether. 

"  Ship  ahoy !  "  cried  Polly.  "  Come !  Poor  Polly ! 
What  does  Polly  want  ? " 


ALMOST   A   TRAGEDY  105 

Christine  burst  into  laughter,  and,  greatly  to  Min- 
zie's  distress,  lost  time  in  going  to  call  Sylvia  and 
Archie  before  rescuing  the  prisoner  from  her  perilous 
position. 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  Sylvia.  "How  dreadful!  What 
shall  we  do,  Archie  ?  " 

Archie,  with  shouts  of  merriment,  helped  Christie 
disengage  the  poor  bird,  and  they  set  her  into  a  basin 
of  warm  water  to  soak.  She  was  perfectly  quiet  and 
let  them  do  as  they  pleased  with  her,  only  ejaculating 
now  and  then,  "Good  gracious!  What  does  Polly 
want  ?  Oh,  my !  Won't  you  take  a  walk  ?  "  with  other 
irrelevant  remarks,  which  sent  her  deliverers  off  into 
fresh  peals  of  laughter. 

"It's  all  very  well  to  laugh,"  said  Christine,  "and 
nobody  could  help  it;  but  if  it  had  not  been  for  Min- 
zie,  poor  Polly  would  have  been  smothered  in  the 
dough,  and  that  would  have  been  '  Good  gracious ! '  I 
think !  "  Then  she  told  the  children  how  Minzie  had 
called  her,  and  insisted  on  her  coming  downstairs. 
They  petted  the  cat  and  gave  her  no  end  of  praise,  but 
"Oh,  you  naughty  bird!"  cried  Syl  to  the  parrot. 
"Now  you  see  what  it  is  to  meddle  with  things  that 
don't  concern  you!  Just  think  of  it!  All  Christie's 
nice  bread  must  go  to  feed  the  chickens,  and  you  came 
near  losing  your  life !  Don't  you  ever  meddle  again, 
Polly ;  do  you  hear  1 " 

Polly  looked  too  comical.      They  had  washed  her  as 


106  ALMOST   A   TRAGEDY 

well  as  they  could,  and  tried  to  dry  her,  and  had  set 
her  on  her  perch  as  near  as  they  dared  to  the  fire. 
She  was  so  bedraggled  and  forlorn,  with  her  wet, 
ruffled  feathers,  and  her  lean,  shivering  body !  Minzie 
sat  and  looked  up  at  her  with  sympathetic  eyes. 

"Bless  my  soul!  What  does  Polly  want?"  chat- 
tered the  poor  bird. 

"I  should  think  you  wanted  to  be  punished,  if  you 
weren't  punished  enough  already,"  laughed  Christie, 
as  she  fastened  the  chain  more  securely  about  the 
parrot's  leg. 

Then  she  proceeded  to  make  a  fresh  bowlful  of 
bread  in  place  of  that  which  had  nearly  made  an  end 
of  poor  Polly ;  and  presently  left  the  two  occupants  of 
the  kitchen  to  take  care  of  each  other  till  morning. 


THE   SANDPIPER'S   NEST 

IT  was  such  a  pretty  nest,  and  in  such  a  pretty 
place,  that  I  must  tell  you  about  it. 

One  lovely  afternoon  in  May  I  had  been  wandering 
up  and  down,  through  rocky  gorges,  by  little  swampy 
bits  of  ground,  and  on  the  tops  of  windy  headlands, 
looking  for  flowers,  and  had  found  many:  large  blue 
violets,  the  like  of  which  you  never  saw;  white  vio- 
lets, too,  creamy  and  fragrant;  gentle  little  houstonias; 
gay  and  dancing  ery throniums ;  and  wind  flowers  deli- 
cately tinted,  blue,  straw-color,  pink,  and  purple.  I 
never  found  such  in  the  mainland  valleys.  The  salt 
air  of  the  sea  deepens  the  colors  of  all  flowers.  I 
stopped  by  a  swamp  which  the  recent  rains  had  filled 
and  turned  into  a  little  lake.  Light  green  iris-leaves 
cut  the  water  like  sharp  and  slender  swords,  and,  in 
the  low  sunshine  that  streamed  across,  threw  long 
shadows  over  the  shining  surface.  Some  blackbirds 
were  calling  sweetly  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  and  song 
sparrows  sung  as  if  they  had  but  one  hour  in  which 
to  crowd  the  whole  rapture  of  the  spring.  As  I 
pressed  through  the  budding  bay  berry  bushes  to  reach 


108  THE  SANDPIPER'S  NEST 

some  milk-white  sprays  of  shadbush  which  grew  by 
the  water  side,  I  startled  three  curlews.  They  flew 
away,  trailing  their  long  legs,  and  whistling  fine  and 
clear.  I  stood  still  to  watch  them  out  of  sight.  How 
full  the  air  was  of  pleasant  sounds!  The  very  waves 
made  a  glad  noise  about  the  rocks,  and  the  whole  sea 
seemed  to  roar  afar  off,  as  if  half  asleep  and  murmuring 
in  a  kind  of  gentle  dream.  The  flock  of  sheep  was 
scattered  here  and  there,  all  washed  as  white  as  snow 
by  the  plenteous  rains,  and  nibbling  the  new  grass 
eagerly;  and  from  near  and  far  came  the  tender  and 
plaintive  cries  of  the  young  lambs. 

Going  on  again,  I  came  to  the  edge  of  a  little  beach, 
and  presently  I  was  startled  by  a  sound  of  such  terror 
and  distress  that  it  went  to  my  heart  at  once.  In  a 
moment  a  poor  little  sandpiper  emerged  from  the 
bushes,  dragging  itself  along  in  such  a  way  that,  had 
you  seen  it,  you  would  have  believed  that  every  bone 
in  its  body  had  been  broken.  Such  a  dilapidated  bird ! 
Its  wings  drooped,  and  its  legs  hung  as  if  almost  life- 
less. It  uttered  continually  a  shrill  cry  of  pain,  and 
kept  just  out  of  the  reach  of  my  hand,  fluttering 
hither  and  thither  as  if  sore  wounded  and  weary.  At 
first  I  was  amazed,  and  cried  out,  "  Why,  friend  and 
gossip !  what  is  the  matter  1 "  and  then  stood  watching 
it  in  mute  dismay.  Suddenly  it  flashed  across  me 
that  this  was  only  my  sandpiper's  way  of  concealing 


THE  SANDPIPER'S  NEST  109 

from  me  a  nest;  and  I  remembered  reading  about  this 
little  trick  of  hers  in  a  book  of  Natural  History.  The 
object  was  to  make  me  follow  her  by  pretending  she 
could  not  fly,  and  so  lead  me  away  from  her  treasure. 
So  I  stood  perfectly  still,  lest  I  should  tread  on  the 
precious  habitation,  and  quietly  observed  my  deceitful 
little  friend.  Her  apparently  desperate  and  hopeless 
condition  grew  so  comical  when  I  reflected  that  it  was 
only  affectation,  that  I  could  not  help  laughing  loud 
and  long.  "Dear  gossip,"  I  called  to  her,  "pray 
don't  give  yourself  so  much  unnecessary  trouble!  You 
might  know  I  would  n't  hurt  you  or  your  nest  for  the 
world,  you  most  absurd  of  birds !  "  As  if  she  under- 
stood me,  and  as  if  she  could  not  brook  being  ridi- 
culed, up  she  rose  at  once,  strong  and  graceful,  and 
flew  off  with  a  full,  round,  clear  note,  delicious  to 
hear. 

Then  I  cautiously  looked  for  the  nest,  and  found  it 
quite  close  to  my  feet,  near  the  stem  of  a  stunted  bay- 
berry  bush.  Mrs.  Sandpiper  had  only  drawn  together 
a  few  bayberry  leaves,  brown  and  glossy,  a  little  pale 
green  lichen,  and  a  twig  or  two,  and  that  was  a  pretty 
enough  house  for  her.  Four  eggs  about  as  large  as 
robins'  were  within,  all  laid  evenly  with  the  small 
ends  together,  as  is  the  tidy  fashion  of  the  Sandpiper 
family.  No  wonder  I  did  not  see  them;  for  they 
were  pale  green  like  the  lichen,  with  brown  spots  the 


110  THE  SANDPIPER'S  NEST 

color  of  the  leaves  and  twigs,  and  they  seemed  a  part 
of  the  ground,  with  its  confusion  of  soft  neutral  tints. 
I  could  not  admire  them  enough,  but,  to  relieve  my 
little  friend's  anxiety,  I  came  very  soon  away,  and  as 
I  came  I  marveled  much  that  so  very  small  a  head 
should  contain  such  an  amount  of  cunning. 


POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN 


THE  SANDPIPER 

ACROSS  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I; 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit, 

The  scattered  driftwood  bleached  and  dry. 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it, 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit, — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky; 
Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  light-houses  high. 
Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I  see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 
As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach, — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry; 


114  SPRING 

He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 

Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 
He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong; 

He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye. 
Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong, 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously  1 
My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly  ? 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky: 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both, 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I  ? 

SPRING 

The  alder  by  the  river 

Shakes  out  her  powdery  curls; 

The  willow  buds  in  silver 
For  little  boys  and  girls. 

The  little  birds  fly  over 

And  oh,  how  sweet  they  sing! 

To  tell  the  happy  children 
That  once  again  't  is  spring. 


THE   BURGOMASTER   GULL  115 

The  gay  green  grass  comes  creeping 

So  soft  beneath  their  feet; 
The  frogs  begin  to  ripple 

A  music  clear  and  sweet. 

And  buttercups  are  coming, 

And  scarlet  columbine, 
And  in  the  sunny  meadows 

The  dandelions  shine. 

And  just  as  many  daisies 

As  their  soft  hands  can  hold 
The  little  ones  may  gather, 

All  fair  in  white  and  gold. 

Here  blows  the  warm  red  clover, 

There  peeps  the  violet  blue; 
O  happy  little  children! 

God  made  them  all  for  you. 


THE   BURGOMASTER   GULL 

THE  old-wives  sit  on  the  heaving  brine, 

White-breasted  in  the  sun, 
Preening  and  smoothing  their  feathers  fine, 

And  scolding,  every  one. 


116  THE   BURGOMASTER   GULL 

The  snowy  kittiwakes  overhead, 

With  beautiful  beaks  of  gold, 
And  wings  of  delicate  gray  outspread, 

Float,  listening  while  they  scold. 

And  a  foolish  guillemot,  swimming  by, 
Though  heavy  and  clumsy  and  dull, 

Joins  in  with  a  will  when  he  hears  their  cry 
'Gainst  the  Burgomaster  Gull. 

For  every  sea-bird,  far  and  near, 
With  an  atom  of  brains  in  its  skull, 

Knows  plenty  of  reasons  for  hate  and  fear 
Of  the  Burgomaster  Gull. 

The  black  ducks  gather,  with  plumes  so  rich, 
And  the  coots  in  twinkling  lines; 

And  the  swift  and  slender  water-witch, 
Whose  neck  like  silver  shines; 

Big  eider-ducks,  with  their  caps  pale  green 
And  their  salmon-colored  vests; 

And  gay  mergansers  sailing  between, 
With  their  long  and  glittering  crests. 

But  the  loon  aloof  on  the  outer  edge 

Of  the  noisy  meeting  keeps, 
And  laughs  to  watch  them  behind  the  ledge 

Where  the  lazy  breaker  sweeps. 


THE   BURGOMASTER   GULL  117 

They  scream  and  wheel,  and  dive  and  fret, 

And  flutter  in  the  foam; 
And  fish  and  mussels  blue  they  get 

To  feed  their  young  at  home: 

Till  hurrying  in,  the  little  auk 

Brings  tidings  that  benumbs, 
And  stops  at  once  their  clamorous  talk,  — 

"The  Burgomaster  comes!" 

And  up  he  sails,  a  splendid  sight! 

With  "  wings  like  banners  "  wide, 
And  eager  eyes  both  big  and  bright, 

That  peer  on  every  side. 

A  lovely  kittiwake  flying  past 

With  a  slippery  pollock  fine,  — 
Quoth  the  Burgomaster,  "Not  so  fast, 

My  beauty !     This  is  mine !  " 

His  strong  wing  strikes  with  a  dizzying  shock; 

Poor  kittiwake,  shrieking,  flees; 
His  booty  he  takes  to  the  nearest  rock, 

To  eat  it  at  his  ease. 

The  scared  birds  scatter  to  left  and  right, 

But  the  bold  buccaneer,  in  his  glee, 
Cares  little  enough  for  their  woe  and  their  fright,  — 

"'Twill  be  your  turn  next!  "  cries  he. 


118  THE   BURGOMASTER   GULL 

He  sees  not,  hidden  behind  the  rock, 

In  the  seaweed,  a  small  boat's  hull, 
Nor  dreams  he  the  gunners  have  spared  the  flock 

For  the  Burgomaster  Gull. 

So  proudly  his  dusky  wings  are  spread, 
And  he  launches  out  on  the  breeze,  — 

When  lo !  what  thunder  of  wrath  and  dread  1 
What  deadly  pangs  are  these ! 

The  red  blood  drips  and  the  feathers  fly, 

Down  drop  the  pinions  wide; 
The  robber-chief,  with  a  bitter  cry, 

Falls  headlong  in  the  tide! 

They  bear  him  off  with  laugh  and  shout; 

The  wary  birds  return,  — 
From  the  clove-brown  feathers  that  float  about 

The  glorious  news  they  learn. 

Then  such  a  tumult  fills  the  place 

As  never  was  sung  or  said; 
And  all  cry,  wild  with  joy,  "The  base, 

Bad  Burgomaster  's  dead! " 

And  the  old-wives  sit  with  their  caps  so  white, 

And  their  pretty  beaks  so  red, 
And  swing  on  the  billows,  and  scream  with  delight, 

For  the  Burgomaster  's  dead! 


LITTLE   GUSTAVA  119 


LITTLE   GUSTAVA 

LITTLE  Gustava  sits  in  the  sun, 
Safe  in  the  porch,  and  the  little  drops  run 
From  the  icicles  under  the  eaves  so  fast, 
For  the  bright  spring  sun  shines  warm  at  last, 
And  glad  is  little  Gustava. 

She  wears  a  quaint  little  scarlet  cap, 
And  a  little  green  bowl  she  holds  in  her  lap, 
Filled  with  bread  and  milk  to  the  brim, 
And  a  wreath  of  marigolds  round  the  rim: 
"Ha,  ha!  "  laughs  little  Gustava. 

Up  comes  her  little  gray,  coaxing  cat, 

With  her  little  pink  nose,  and  she  mews,   "What 

that?" 

Gustava  feeds  her,  —  she  begs  for  more ; 
And  a  little  brown  hen  walks  in  at  the  door; 
"  Good-day !  "  cries  little  Gustava. 

She  scatters  crumbs  for  the  little  brown  hen. 
There  comes  a  rush  and  a  flutter,  and  then 
Down  fly  her  little  white  doves  so  sweet, 
With  their  snowy  wings  and  their  crimson  feet: 
"  Welcome !  "  cries  little  Gustava. 


120  LITTLE   GUSTAVA 

So  dainty  and  eager  they  pick  up  the  crumbs; 
But  who  is  this  through  the  doorway  comes  1 
Little  Scotch  terrier,  little  dog  Rags, 
Looks  in  her  face,  and  his  funny  tail  wags: 
"Ha,  ha!"  laughs  little  Gustava. 

"  You  want  some  breakfast,  too  ?  "  and  down 
She  sets  her  bowl  on  the  brick  floor  brown; 
And  little  dog  Hags  drinks  up  her  milk, 
While  she  strokes  his  shaggy  locks,  like  silk: 
"Dear  Bags!"  says  little  Gustava. 

Waiting  without  stood  sparrow  and  crow, 
Cooling  their  feet  in  the  melting  snow : 
"Won't  you  come  in,  good  folk?  "  she  cried. 
But  they  were  too  bashful,  and  stayed  outside, 
Though  "Pray  come  in!  "  cried  Gustava. 

So  the  last  she  threw  them,  and  knelt  on  the  mat 
With  doves  and  biddy  and  dog  and  cat. 
And  her  mother  came  to  the  open  house-door: 
"  Dear  little  daughter,  I  bring  you  some  more, 
My  merry  little  Gustava!" 

Kitty  and  terrier,  biddy  and  doves, 
All  things  harmless  Gustava  loves. 
The  shy,  kind  creatures  'tis  joy  to  feed, 
And  oh,  her  breakfast  is  sweet  indeed 
To  happy  little  Gustava ! 


CHANTICLEER  121 


CHANTICLEER 

I  WAKE!  I  feel  the  day  is  near; 

I  hear  the  red  cock  crowing  ! 
He  cries  "  'T  is  dawn!  "     How  sweet  and  clear 
His  cheerful  call  comes  to  my  ear, 

While  light  is  slowly  growing. 

The  white  snow  gathers,  flake  on  flake; 

I  hear  the  red  cock  crowing ! 
Is  anybody  else  awake 
To  see  the  winter  morning  break, 

While  thick  and  fast  'tis  snowing? 

I  think  the  world  is  all  asleep; 

I  hear  the  red  cock  crowing! 
Out  of  the  frosty  pane  I  peep; 
The  drifts  are  piled  so  wide  and  deep, 

And  wild  the  wind  is  blowing! 

Nothing  I  see  has  shape  or  form; 

I  hear  the  red  cock  crowing! 
But  that  dear  voice  comes  through  the  storm 
To  greet  me  in  my  nest  so  warm, 

As  if  the  sky  were  glowing! 

A  happy  little  child,  I  lie 

And  hear  the  red  cock  crowing. 


122  THE  WATER-BLOOM 

The  day  is  dark.     I  wonder  why 
His  voice  rings  out  so  brave  and  high, 
With  gladness  overflowing. 


THE   WATER-BLOOM 

A  CHILD  looked  up  in  the  summer  sky 
Where  a  soft,  bright  shower  had  just  passed  by ; 
Eastward  the  dusk  rain-curtain  hung, 
And  swiftly  across  it  the  rainbow  sprung. 

"Papa!  Papa!  what  is  it?  "  she  cried, 
As  she  gazed  with  her  blue  eyes  opened  wide 
At  the  wonderful  arch  that  bridged  the  heaven, 
Vividly  glowing  with  colors  seven. 

"Why,  that  is  the  rainbow,  darling  child," 
And  the  father  down  on  his  baby  smiled. 

"What  makes  it,  papa?"     "The  sun,  my  dear, 
That  shines  on  the  water-drops  so  clear." 

Here  was  a  beautiful  mystery ! 

No  more  questions  to  ask  had  she, 

But  she  thought  the  garden's  loveliest  flowers 

Had  floated  upward  and  caught  in  the  showers  — 

Kose,  violet,  orange  marigold — 

In  a  ribbon  of  light  on  the  clouds  unrolled ! 


CROCUS  123 

Red  of  poppy,  and  green  leaves  too, 
Sunflower  yellow,  and  larkspur  blue. 

A  great,  wide,  wondrous,  splendid  wreath 
It  seemed  to  the  little  girl  beneath; 
How  did  it  grow  so  fast  up  there, 
And  suddenly  blossom,  high  in  the  air? 

She  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  the  sight: 
"  Oh,  look ! "  she  cried  in  her  deep  delight, 

As  she  watched  the  glory  spanning  the  gloom, 
"Oh,  look  at  the  beautiful  water-bloom! » 

CKOCUS 

OH,  the  dear,  delightful  sound 
Of  the  drops  that  to  the  ground 
From  the  eaves  rejoicing  run 
In  the  February  sun! 
Drip,  drip,  drip,  they  slide  and  slip 
From  the  icicles'  bright  tip, 
Till  they  melt  the  sullen  snow 
On  the  garden  bed  below. 
"  Bless  me !  what  is  all  this  drumming  ?  " 
Cries  the  crocus,  "I  am  coming! 
Pray  don't  knock  so  long  and  loud, 
For  I  'm  neither  cross  nor  proud. 
But  a  little  sleepy  still, 


124  CROCUS 

With  the  winter's  lingering  chill. 
Never  mind !     'T  is  time  to  wake, 
Through  the  dream  at  last  to  break ! " 
'Tis  as  quickly  done  as  said; 
Up  she  thrusts  her  golden  head, 
Looks  about  with  radiant  eyes 
In  a  kind  of  shy  surprise, 
Tries  to  say  in  accents  surly, 

"Well!  you  called  me  very  early!" 
But  she  lights  with  such  a  smile 
All  the  darksome  place  the  while, 
Every  heart  begins  to  stir 
Joyfully  at  sight  of  her; 
Every  creature  grows  more  gay 
Looking  in  her  face  to-day. 
She  is  greeted,  "Welcome,  dear! 
Fresh  smile  of  the  hopeful  year! 
First  bright  print  of  Spring's  light  feet, 
Golden  crocus,  welcome,  sweet !  " 
And  she  whispers,  looking  up 
From  her  richly  glowing  cup, 
At  the  sunny  eaves  so  high 
Overhead  against  the  sky, 

"Now  I  've  come,  0  sparkling  drops, 
All  your  clattering,  pattering  stops. 
And  I  'm  very  glad  I  came, 
And  you  're  not  the  least  to  blame 
That  you  hammered  at  the  snow 


THE   CONSTANT   DOVE  125 

Till  you  wakened  me  below 
With  your  one  incessant  tune. 
I  'm  not  here  a  bit  too  soon!  " 


THE   CONSTANT   DOVE 

THE  white  dove  sat  on  the  sunny  eaves, 

And  "  What  will  you  do  when  the  north  wind  grieves  1 " 

She  said  to  the  busy  nuthatch  small, 

Tapping  above  in  the  gable  tali 

He  probed  each  crack  with  his  slender  beak, 
And  much  too  busy  he  was  to  speak. 
Spiders,  that  thought  themselves  safe  and  sound, 
And  moths  and  flies  and  cocoons  he  found. 

Oh!  but  the  white  dove  she  was  fair, 
Bright  she  shone  in  the  autumn  air, 
Turning  her  head  from  the  left  to  the  right; 
Only  to  watch  her  was  such  delight! 

"Coo!"  she  murmured,  "poor  little  thing, 
What  will  you  do  when  the  "frosts  shall  sting  ? 
Spiders  and  flies  will  be  hidden  or  dead, 
Snow  underneath  and  snow  overhead." 

Nuthatch  paused  in  his  busy  care: 

"And  what  will  you  do,  O  white  dove  fair? " 


126  THE   WANING   MOON 

"  Oh,  kind  hands  feed  me  with  crumbs  and  grain, 
And  I  wait  with  patience  for  spring  again." 

He  laughed  so  loud  that  his  laugh  I  heard. 
"  How  can  you  be  such  a  stupid  bird ! 
What  are  your  wings  for,  tell  me,  pray, 
But  to  bear  you  from  tempests  and  cold  away? 

"Merrily  off  to  the  south  I  fly, 
In  search  of  the  summer,  presently, 
And  warmth  and  beauty  I  '11  find  anew. 
Why  don't  you  follow  the  summer,  too?" 

But  she  cooed  content  on  the  sunny  eaves, 
And  looked  askance  at  the  reddening  leaves; 
And  grateful  I  whispered:   "0  white  dove  true, 
I  '11  feed  you  and  love  you  the  winter  through." 

THE   WANING   MOON 

THE  moon  is  tired  and  old ; 
In  the  morning  darkness  cold 
She  drifts  up  the  paling  sky, 
With  cheek  flushed  wearily. 

A  little  longer,  and  lo ! 
She  is  lost  in  the  sun's  bright  glow; 
A  thin  shell,  pearly  and  pale, 
'Mid  soft  white  clouds  that  sail. 


THE   BIRDS'   ORCHESTRA  127 

Art  faint  and  sad,  dear  moon? 
Gladness  shall  find  thee  soon! 
Sorry  art  thou  to  wane? 
Thou  shalt  be  young  again! 

And  beautiful  as  before 
Thou  shalt  live  in  the  sky  once  more ; 
From  the  baby  crescent  small 
Thou  shalt  grow  to  the  golden  ball: 

And  again  will  the  children  shout, 
"Oh,  look  at  the  moon,  look  out!  " 
For  thou  shalt  be  great  and  bright 
As  when  God  first  made  night. 

THE   BIRDS'  ORCHESTRA 

BOBOLINK  shall  play  the  violin, 

Great  applause  to  win; 
Lonely,  sweet,  and  sad,  the  meadow  lark 

Plays  the  oboe.      Hark ! 
That  inspired  bugle  with  a  soul  — 

'T  is  the  oriole ; 
Yellow-bird  the  clarionet  shall  play, 

Blithe,  and  clear,  and  gay. 
Purple  finch  what  instrument  will  suit? 

He  can  play  the  flute. 
Fire- winged  blackbirds  sound  the  merry  fife, 

Soldiers  without  strife; 


128  THE   BIRDS'   ORCHESTRA 

And  the  robins  wind  the  mellow  horn 

Loudly  eve  and  morn. 
Who  shall  clash  the  cymbals?     Jay  and  crow; 

That  is  all  they  know. 
Hylas  twang  their  harps  so  weird  and  high, 

Such  a  tuneful  cry ! 
And  to  roll  the  deep,  melodious  drum, 

Lo!  the  bullfrogs  come! 
Then  the  splendid  chorus,  who  shall  sing 

Of  so  fine  a  thing  ? 
Who  the  names  of  the  performers  call 

Truly,  one  and  all  1 
Bluebird,  bunting,  catbird,  chickadee 

(Phoabe-bird  is  he), 
Swallow,  creeper,  crossbill,  cuckoo,  dove, 

Wee  wren  that  I  love; 
Brisk  flycatcher,  finches  —  what  a  crowd ! 

Kingbird  whistling  loud; 
Sweet  rose-breasted  grossbeak,  vireo,  thrush  — 

Hear  these  two,  and  hush; 
Scarlet  tanager,  song  sparrow  small 

(Dearer  he  than  all; 
At  the  first  sound  of  his  friendly  voice 

Saddest  hearts  rejoice), 
Kedpoll,  nuthatch,  thrasher,  plover  gray  — 

Curlew  did  I  say  ? 
What  a  jangling  all  the  grakles  make! 

Is  it  some  mistake  ? 


NIKOLINA  129 

Anvil  chorus  yellow-hammers  strike, 

And  the  wicked  shrike 
Harshly  creaks  like  some  half-open  door; 

He  can  do  no  more. 

NIKOLINA 

OH,  tell  me,  little  children,  have  you  seen  her  — 
The  tiny  maid  from  Norway,  Nikolina? 
Oh,  her  eyes  are  blue  as  corn  flowers  'mid  the  corn, 
And  her  cheeks  are  rosy  red  as  skies  of  morn ! 

Oh,  buy  the  baby's  blossoms  if  you  meet  her, 
And  stay  with  gentle  words  and  looks  to  greet  her ; 
She  '11  gaze  at  you  and  smile  and  clasp  your  hand, 
But  no  word  of  your  speech  can  understand. 

Nikolina !     Swift  she  turns  if  any  call  her, 
As  she  stands  among  the  poppies  hardly  taller, 
Breaking  off  their  flaming  scarlet  cups  for  you, 
With  spikes  of  slender  larkspur,  brightly  blue. 

In  her  little  garden  many  a  flower  is  growing  — 
Eed,  gold,  and  purple  in  the  soft  wind  blowing; 
But  the  child  that  stands  amid  the  blossoms  gay 
Is  sweeter,  quainter,  brighter  even  than  they. 

Oh,  tell  me,  little  children,  have  you  seen  her  — 
This  baby  girl  from  Norway,  Nikolina? 


130  MILKING 

Slowly  she  's  learning  English  words,  to  try 
And  thank  you  if  her  flowers  you  conie  to  buy. 


MILKING 

LITTLE  dun  cow  to  the  apple-tree  tied, 

Chewing  the  cud  of  reflection, 
I  that  am  milking  you,  sit  by  your  side, 

Lost  in  a  sad  retrospection. 

Far  o'er  the  field  the  tall  daisies  blush  warm, 

For  rosy  the  sunset  is  dying ; 
Across  the  still  valley,  o'er  meadow  and  farm, 

The  flush  of  its  beauty  is  lying. 

White  foams  the  milk  in  the  pail  at  my  feet, 

Clearly  the  robins  are  calling; 
Soft  blows  the  evening  wind  after  the  heat, 

Cool  the  long  shadows  are  falling. 

Little  dun  cow,  'tis  so  tranquil  and  sweet! 

Are  you  light-hearted,  I  wonder? 
What  do  you  think  about,  — something  to  eat? 

On  clover  and  grass  do  you  ponder? 

I  am  remembering  days  that  are  dead, 
And  a  brown  little  maid  in  the  gloaming, 

Milking  her  cow,  with  the  west  burning  red 
Over  waves  that  about  her  were  foaming. 


MILKING  131 

Up  from  the  sad  east  the  deep  shadows  gloomed 

Out  of  the  distance  and  found  her; 
Lightly  she  sang  while  the  solemn  sea  boomed 

Like  a  great  organ  around  her. 

Under  the  light-house  no  sweet-brier  grew, 

Dry  was  the  grass,  and  no  daisies 
Waved  in  the  wind,  and  the  flowers  were  few 

That  lifted  their  delicate  faces. 

But  oh,  she  was  happy,  and  careless,  and  blest, 

Full  of  the  song  sparrow's  spirit; 
Grateful  for  life,  for  the  least  and  the  best 

Of  the  blessings  that  mortals  inherit. 

Fairer  than  gardens  of  Paradise  seemed 

The  desolate  spaces  of  water; 
Nature  was  hers,  —  clouds  that  frowned  —  stars  that 


What  beautiful  lessons  they  taught  her! 

Would  I  could  find  you  again,  little  maid, 

Striving  with  utmost  endeavor,  — 
Could  find  in  my  breast  that  light  heart,  unafraid, 

That  has  vanished  for  ever  and  ever ! 


132  YELLOW-BIRD 


YELLOW-BIED 

YELLOW-BIRD,  where  did  you  learn  that  song, 
Perched  on  the  trellis  where  grapevines  clamber, 

In  and  out  fluttering,  all  day  long, 

With  your  golden  breast  bedropped  with  amber  1 

Where  do  you  hide  such  a  store  of  delight, 
O  delicate  creature,  tiny  and  slender, 

Like  a  mellow  morning  sunbeam  bright 
And  overflowing  with  music  tender ! 

You  never  learned  it  at  all,  the  song 

Springs  from  your  heart  in  rich  completeness, 

Beautiful,  blissful,  clear  and  strong, 

Steeped  in  the  summer's  ripest  sweetness. 

To  think  we  are  neighbors  of  yours !     How  fine ! 

Oh,  what  a  pleasure  to  watch  you  together, 
Bringing  your  fern-down  and  floss  to  reline 

The  nest  worn  thin  by  the  winter  weather! 

Send  up  your  full  notes  like  worshipful  prayers; 

Yellow-bird,  sing  while  the  summer  's  before  you: 
Little  you  dream  that,  in  spite  of  their  cares, 

Here  's  a  whole  family,  proud  to  adore  you! 


A   TRIUMPH  133 


A  TRIUMPH 

LITTLE  Roger  up   the  long  slope  rushing 

Through  the  rustling  corn, 
Showers  of  dewdrops  from  the  broad  leaves  brushing 

In  the  early  morn, 

At  his  sturdy  little  shoulder  bearing, 

For  a  banner  gay, 
Stem  of  fir  with  one  long  shaving  flaring 

In  the  wind  away ! 

Up  he  goes,  the  summer  sunrise  flushing 

O'er  him  in  his  race, 
Sweeter  dawn  of  rosy  childhood  blushing 

On  his  radiant  face; 

If  he  can  but  set  his  standard  glorious 

On  the  hill-top  low, 
Ere  the  sun  climbs  the  clear  sky  victorious, 

All  the  world  aglow! 

So  he  presses  on  with  childish  ardor, 

Almost  at  the  top ! 
Hasten,  Roger!     Does  the  way  grow  harder? 

Wherefore  do  you  stop  1 


134  A  TKIUMPH 

From  below  the  corn-stalks  tall  and  slender 

Comes  a  plaintive  cry; 
Turns  he  for  an  instant  from  the  splendor 

Of  the  crimson  sky, 

Wavers,  then  goes  flying  toward  the  hollow, 

Calling  loud  and  clear, 

"  Coming,  Jenny !     Oh,  why  did  you  follow  ? 
Don't  you  cry,  my  dear !  " 

Small  Janet  sits  weeping  'mid  the  daisies; 

"Little  sister  sweet, 
Must  you  follow  Koger? "     Then  he  raises 

Baby  on  her  feet. 

Guides  her  tiny  steps  with  kindness  tender, 

Cheerfully  and  gay, 
All  his  courage  and  his  strength  would  lend  her 

Up  the  uneven  way, 

Till  they  front  the  blazing  east  together; 

But  the  sun  has  rolled 
Up  the  sky  in  the  still  summer  weather, 

Flooding  them  with  gold. 

All  forgotten  is  the  boy's  ambition, 

Low  the  standard  lies, 
Still  they  stand,  and  gaze  —  a  sweeter  vision 

Ne'er  met  mortal  eyes. 


SLUMBER   SONG  135 

That  was  spendid,  Koger,  that  was  glorious, 

Thus  to  help  the  weak; 
Better  than  to  plant  your  flag  victorious 

On  earth's  highest  peak! 


SLUMBEK   SONG 

THOU  little  child,  with  tender,  clinging  arms, 
Drop  thy  sweet  head,  my  darling,  down  and  rest 

Upon  my  shoulder,  rest  with  all  thy  charms; 
Be  soothed  and  comforted,  be  loved  and  blessed. 

Against  thy  silken,  honey- colored  hair 
I  lean  a  loving  cheek,  a  mute  caress; 

Close,  close  I  gather  thee  and  kiss  thy  fair 
White  eyelids,  sleep  so  softly  doth  oppress. 

Dear  little  face,  that  lies  in  calm  content 
Within  the  gracious  hollow  that  God  made 

In  every  human  shoulder,  where  He  meant 
Some  tired  head  for  comfort  should  be  laid! 

Most  like  a  heavy-folded  rose  thou  art, 
In  summer  air  reposing,  warm  and  still. 

Dream  thy  sweet  dreams  upon  my  quiet  heart; 
I  watch  thy  slumber;  naught  shall  do  thee  ill. 


136  WARNING 


WARNING 

TAKE  heed,  0  youth,  both  brave  and  bright, 

Battles  there  are  for  you  to  fight ! 

Stand  up  erect  and  face  them  all, 

Nor  turning  flee,  nor  wavering  fall. 

Of  all  the  world's  bewildering  gifts, 

Take  only  what  the  soul  uplifts. 

Keep  firm  your  hand  upon  the  helm 

Lest  bitter  tempests  overwhelm; 

And  watch  lest  evil  mists  should  mar 

The  glory  of  your  morning  star, 

And  robe  the  glory  of  the  day 

You  have  not  reached,  in  sullen  gray. 

Choose  then,  0  youth,  both  bright  and  brave ! 

Wilt  be  a  monarch  or  a  slave  ? 

Ah,  scorn  to  take  one  step  below 

The  paths  where  truth  and  honor  go! 

On  manhood's  threshold  stand,  a  king, 

Demanding  all  that  life  can  bring 

Of  lofty  thought,  of  purpose  high, 

Of  beauty  and  nobility. 

Once  master  of  yourself,  no  fate 

Can  make  your  rich  world  desolate, 

And  all  men  shall  look  up  to  see 

The  glory  of  your  victory. 


THE   BUTCHER-BIRD  137 


THE   BUTCHER-BIRD 

I  'LL  tell  you  a  story,  children, 
The  saddest  you  ever  heard, 

About  Rupert,  the  pet  canary, 
And  a  terrible  butcher-bird. 

There  was  such  a  blinding  snowstorm 

One  could  not  see  at  all, 
And  all  day  long  the  children 

Had  watched  the  white  flakes  fall; 

And  when  the  eldest  brothers 
Had  kissed  mamma  good-night, 

And  up  the  stairs  together 

Had  gone  with  their  bedroom  light, 

Of  a  sudden  their  two  fresh  voices 

Rang  out  in  a  quick  surprise, 
'Mamma!  papa!  come  quickly 
And  catch  him  before  he  flies ! " 

On  a  picture-frame  perched  lightly, 
With  his  head  beneath  his  wing, 

They  had  found  a  gray  bird  sitting; 
That  was  a  curious  thing! 


138  THE   BUTCHER-BIRD 

Downstairs  to  the  cosy  parlor 
They  brought  him,  glad  to  find 

For  the  storm-tossed  wanderer  shelter; 
Not  knowing  his  cruel  mind ! 

And  full  of  joy  were  the  children 
To  think  he  was  safe  and  warm, 

And  had  chosen  their  house  for  safety 
To  hide  from  the  raging  storm ! 

"He  shall  stay  with  the  pretty  Eupert, 

And  live  among  mother's  flowers, 
And  he  '11  sing  with  our  robin  and  sparrow; " 
And  they  talked  about  it  for  hours. 

Alas,  in  the  early  morning 

There  rose  a  wail  and  a  cry, 
And  a  fluttering  wild  in  the  cages, 

And  Kupert's  voice  rang  high. 

We  rushed  to  the  rescue  swiftly; 

Too  late !     On  the  shining  cage, 
The  home  of  the  happy  Rupert, 

All  rough  with  fury  and  rage, 

Stood  the  handsome,  horrible  stranger, 

With  black  and  flashing  eye, 
And  torn  almost  to  pieces 

Did  poor  dead  Rupert  lie! 


FERN-SEED  139 

Oh,  sad  was  all  the  household, 

And  we  mourned  for  Kupert  long. 

The  fierce  wild  shrike  was  prisoned 
In  a  cage  both  dark  and  strong; 

And  would  you  like,  0  children, 

His  final  fate  to  know  ? 
To  Agassiz's  Museum 

That  pirate  bird  did  go! 

FERN-SEED 

SHE  filled  her  shoes  with  fern-seed, 

This  foolish  little  Nell, 
And  in  the  summer  sunshine 

Went  dancing  down  the  dell. 
For  whoso  treads  on  fern-seed  — 

So  fairy  stories  tell  — 
Becomes  invisible  at  once, 

So  potent  is  its  spell. 
A  frog  mused  by  the  brook-side: 

"  Can  you  see  me  1 "  she  cried ; 
He  leaped  across  the  water, 

A  flying  leap  and  wide. 
"Oh,  that 's  because  I  asked  him! 

I  must  not  speak, "  she  thought, 
And  skipping  o'er  the  meadow 

The  shady  wood  she  sought. 


140  FERN-SEED 

The  squirrel  chattered  on  the  bough, 

Nor  noticed  her  at  all, 
The  birds  sang  high,  the  birds  sang  low, 

With  many  a  cry  and  call. 
The  rabbit  nibbled  in  the  grass, 

The  snake  basked  in  the  sun, 
The  butterflies,  like  floating  flowers, 

Wavered  and  gleamed  and  shone. 
The  spider  in  his  hammock  swung, 

The  gay  grasshoppers  danced; 
And  now  and  then  a  cricket  sung 

And  shining  beetles  glanced. 
'Twas  all  because  the  pretty  child 

So  softly,  softly  trod,  — 
You  could  not  hear  a  footfall 

Upon  the  yielding  sod. 
But  she  was  filled  with  such  delight  — 

This  foolish  little  Nell! 
And  with  her  fern-seed  laden  shoes, 

Danced  back  across  the  dell. 
"I  '11  find  my  mother  now,"  she  thought, 

"What  fun  't  will  be  to  call 
'  Mamma !     Mamma ! '  while  she  can  see 

No  little  girl  at  all !  " 
She  peeped  in  through  the  window, 

Mamma  sat  in  a  dream: 
About  the  quiet  sun-steeped  house 

All  things  asleep  did  seem. 


FERN-SEED  141 

She  stept  across  the  threshold; 

So  lightly  had  she  crept, 
The  dog  upon  the  mat  lay  still, 

And  still  the  kitty  slept. 
Patient  beside  her  mother's  knee 

To  try  her  wondrous  spell 
Waiting  she  stood,  till  all  at  once, 

Waking,  mamma  cried  "Nell! 
Where  have  you  been  ?  why  do  you  gaze 

At  me  with  such  strange  eyes  ? " 
"  But  can  you  see  me,  mother  dear  1 " 

Poor  Nelly  faltering  cries. 
"See  you?  why  not,  my  little  girl? 

Why  should  mamma  be  blind  ? " 
And  pretty  Nell  unties  her  shoes, 

With  fairy  fern-seed  lined; 
She  tosses  up  into  the  air 

A  little  powdery  cloud, 
And  frowns  upon  it  as  it  falls, 

And  murmurs  half  aloud, 
"It  was  n't  true,  a  word  of  it, 

About  the  magic  spell! 
I  never  will  believe  again 

What  fairy  stories  tell! " 


142  THE   GREAT  WHITE   OWL 


THE   GREAT   WHITE   OWL 

HE  sat  aloft  on  the  rocky  height, 

Snow-white  above  the  snow, 
In  the  winter  morning  calm  and  bright, 

And  I  gazed  at  him,  below. 

He  faced  the  east,  where  the  sunshine  streamed 

On  the  singing,  sparkling  sea, 
And  he  blinked  with  his  yellow  eyes,  that  seemed 

All  sightless  and  blank  to  be. 

The  snowbirds  swept  in  a  whirling  crowd 

About  him  gleefully, 
And  piped  and  whistled  sweet  and  loud, 

But  never  a  plume  stirred  he. 

Singing  they  passed,  and  away  they  flew 

Through  the  brilliant  atmosphere; 
Cloud-like  he  sat,  with  the  living  blue 

Of  the  sky  behind  him,  clear. 

'  Give  you  good-morrow,  friend, "  I  cried. 

He  wheeled  his  large  round  head, 
Solemn  and  stately,  from  side  to  side, 

But  never  a  word  he  said. 


THE   GREAT   WHITE   OWL  143 

"0  lonely  creature,  weird  and  white, 

Why  are  you  sitting  there, 

Like  a  glimmering  ghost  from  the  still  midnight, 
In  the  beautiful  morning  air  ? " 

He  spurned  the  rock  with  his  talons  strong, 

No  human  speech  brooked  he ; 
Like  a  snowflake  huge  he  sped  along 

Swiftly  and  noiselessly. 

His  wide,  slow-waving  wings  so  white, 

Heavy  and  soft  did  seem; 
Yet  rapid  as  a  dream  his  flight, 

And  silent  as  a  dream. 

And  when  a  distant  crag  he  gained, 

Bright-twinkling  like  a  star, 
He  shook  his  shining  plumes,  and  deigned 

To  watch  me  from  afar. 

And  once  again,  when  the  evening-red 

Burned  dimly  in  the  west, 
I  saw  him  motionless,  his  head 

Bent  forward  on  his  breast. 

Dark  and  still,  'gainst  the  sunset  sky 

Stood  out  his  figure  lone; 
Crowning  the  bleak  rock  far  and  high, 

By  sad  winds  overblown. 


144  THE   BLIND   LAMB 

Did  he  dream  of  the  ice-fields,  stark  and  drear? 

Of  his  haunts  on  the  Arctic  shore  ? 
Or  the  downy  brood  in  his  nest  last  year 

On  the  coast  of  Labrador? 

Had  he  fluttered  the  Esquimaux  huts  among? 

How  I  wished  he  could  speak  to  me! 
Had  he  sailed  on  the  icebergs,  rainbow-hung, 

In  the  open  Polar  Sea? 

Oh,  many  a  tale  he  might  have  told 

Of  marvelous  sounds  and  sights, 
Where  the  world  lies  hopeless  and  dumb  with  cold, 

Through  desolate  days  and  nights. 

But  with  folded  wings,  while  the  darkness  fell, 

He  sat,  nor  spake,  nor  stirred; 
And  charmed  as  if  by  a  subtile  spell, 

I  mused  on  the  wondrous  Bird. 


THE   BLIND  LAMB 

'T  WAS  summer,  and  softly  the  ocean 
Sang,  sparkling  in  light  and  heat, 

And  over  the  water  and  over  the  land 
The  warm  south  wind  blew  sweet. 

And  the  children  played  in  the  sunshine, 
And  shouted  and  scampered  in  glee 


THE   BLIND   LAMB  145 

O'er  the  grassy  slopes,  or  the  weed-strewn  beach, 
Or  rocked  on  the  dreaming  sea. 

They  had  roamed  the  whole  bright  morning, 

The  troop  of  merry  boys, 
And  in  they  nocked  at  noontide, 

With  a  clamor  of  joyful  noise. 

And  they  bore  among  them  gently 

A  wee  lamb,  white  as  snow; 
And,  "O  mamma,  mamma,  he  's  blind! 

He  can't  tell  where  to  go. 

"And  we  found  him  lost  and  lonely, 

And  we  brought  him  home  to  you, 
And  we  're  going  to  feed  him  and  care  for  him ! " 
Cried  the  eager  little  crew. 

"Look,  how  he  falls  over  everything!" 

And  they  set  him  on  his  feet, 
And  aimlessly  he  wandered, 

With  a  low  and  mournful  bleat. 

Some  sign  of  pity  he  seemed  to  ask, 

And  he  strove  to  draw  more  near, 
When  he  felt  the  touch  of  a  human  hand, 

Or  a  kind  voice  reached  his  ear. 


146  THE   BLIND  LAMB 

They  tethered  him  in  a  grassy  space 

Hard  by  the  garden  gate, 
And  with  sweet  fresh  milk  they  fed  him, 

And  cared  for  him  early  and  late. 

But  as  the  golden  days  went  on, 

Forgetful  the  children  grew, 
They  wearied  of  tending  the  poor  blind  lamb; 

No  longer  a  plaything  new. 

And  so  each  day  I  changed  his  place 

Within  the  garden  fence, 
And  fed  him  morn  and  noon  and  eve, 

And  was  his  Providence. 

And  he  knew  the  rustle  of  my  gown, 

And  every  lightest  tone, 
And  when  he  heard  me  pass,  straightway 

He  followed  o'er  stock  and  stone. 

One  dark  and  balmy  evening, 

When  the  south  wind  breathed  of  rain, 

I  went  to  lead  my  pet  within, 
And  found  but  a  broken  chain. 

And  a  terror  fell  upon  me, 

For  round  on  every  side 
The  circling  sea  was  sending  in 

The  strength  of  the  full  flood-tide. 


THE   BLIND   LAMB  147 

I  called  aloud  and  listened, 

I  knew  not  where  to  seek; 
Out  of  the  dark  the  warm  wet  wind 

Blew  soft  against  my  cheek, 

And  naught  was  heard  but  the  sound  of  waves 

Crowding  against  the  shore. 
Over  the  dewy  grass  I  ran, 

And  called  aloud  once  more. 

What  reached  me  out  of  the  distance  ? 

Surely,  a  piteous  bleat! 
I  threw  my  long  dress  over  my  arm, 

And  followed  with  flying  feet. 

Down  to  the  edge  of  the  water, 

Calling  again  and  again, 
Answered  so  clearly,  near  and  more  near, 

By  that  tremulous  cry  of  pain! 

I  crept  to  the  end  of  the  rocky  ledge, 

Black  lay  the  water  wide; 
Up  from  among  the  rippling  waves 

Came  the  shivering  voice  that  cried. 

I  could  not  see,  but  I  answered  him; 

And,  stretching  a  rescuing  hand, 
I  felt  in  the  darkness  his  sea-soaked  wool, 

And  drew  him  in  to  the  land. 


148  THE   BLIND   LAMB 

And  the  poor  little  creature  pressed  so  close, 

Distracted  with  delight, 
While  I  dried  the  brine  from  his  dripping  fleece 

With  my  apron  soft  and  white. 

Close  in  my  arms  I  gathered  him, 

More  glad  than  tongue  can  tell, 
And  he  laid  on  my  shoulder  his  pretty  head; 

He  knew  that  all  was  well. 

And  I  thought  as  I  bore  him  swiftly  back, 

Content,  close  folded  thus, 
Of  the  Heavenly  Father  compassionate, 

Whose  pity  shall  succor  us. 

I  thought  of  the  arms  of  mercy 

That  clasp  the  world  about, 
And  that  not  one  of  His  children 

Shall  perish  in  dread  and  doubt: 

For  He  hears  the  voices  that  cry  to  Him, 

And  near  his  love  shall  draw : 
With  help  and  comfort  He  waits  for  us, 

The  Light,  and  the  Life,  and  the  Law ! 


DUST  149 


DUST 

HERE  is  a  problem,  a  wonder  for  all  to  see. 

Look  at  this  marvelous  thing  I  hold  in  my  hand ! 
This  is  a  magic  surprising,  a  mystery 

Strange  as  a  miracle,  harder  to  understand. 

What  is  it  ?     Only  a  handful  of  earth :  to  your  touch 
A  dry  rough  powder  you  trample  beneath  your  feet, 

Dark  and  lifeless;  but  think  for  a  moment,  how  much 
It  hides  and  holds  that  is  beautiful,  bitter,  or  sweet. 

Think  of  the  glory  of  color!     The  red  of  the  rose, 
Green  of  the  myriad  leaves  and  the  fields  of  grass, 

Yellow  as  bright  as  the  sun  where  the  daffodil  blows, 
Purple  where  violets  nod  as  the  breezes  pass. 

Think  of  the  manifold  form,  of  the  oak  and  the  vine, 
Nut,  and  fruit,  and  cluster,  and  ears  of  corn; 

Of  the  anchored  water-lily,  a  thing  divine, 

Unfolding  its  dazzling  snow  to  the  kiss  of  morn. 

Think  of  the  delicate  perfumes  borne  on  the  gale, 
Of  the  golden  willow  catkin's  odor  of  spring, 

Of  the  breath  of  the  rich  narcissus  waxen-pale, 

Of  the  sweet  pea's  flight  of  flowers,  of  the  nettle's 
sting. 


150  DUST 

Strange  that  this  lifeless  thing  gives  vine,  flower,  tree 

Color  and  shape  and  character,  fragrance  too; 
That  the  timber  that  builds  the  house,  the  ship  for  the 

sea, 

Out  of  this  powder  its  strength  and  its  toughness 
drew! 

That  the  cocoa  among  the  palms  should  suck  its  milk 
From  this  dry  dust,  while  dates  from  the  self-same 

soil 

Summon  their  sweet  rich  fruit:  that  our  shining  silk 
The  mulberry  leaves  should  yield  to  the  worm's 
slow  toil. 

How  should  the  poppy  steal  sleep  from  the  very  source 
That  grants  to  the  grapevine  juice  that  can  madden 
or  cheer? 

How  does  the  weed  find  food  for  its  fabric  coarse 
Where  the  lilies  proud  their  blossoms  pure  uprear? 

Who  shall  compass  or  fathom  God's  thought  profound? 

We  can  but  praise,  for  we  may  not  understand; 
But  there  's  no  more  beautiful  riddle  the  whole  world 

round 

Than  is  hid  in  this  heap  of  dust  I  hold  in  my 
hand. 


THE   SCARECROW  151 


THE   SCARECROW 

THE  farmer  looked  at  his  cherry-tree, 

With  thick  buds  clustered  on  every  bough; 
"I  wish  I  could  cheat  the  robins,"  said  he; 
"If  somebody  only  would  show  me  how! 

"I  '11  make  a  terrible  scarecrow  grim, 

With  threatening  arms  and  with  bristling  head, 
And  up  in  the  tree  I  '11  fasten  him 

To  frighten  them  half  to  death,"  he  said. 

He  fashioned  a  scarecrow  tattered  and  torn  — 

Oh,  'twas  a  horrible  thing  to  see! 
And  very  early,  one  summer  morn, 

He  set  it  up  in  his  cherry-tree. 

The  blossoms  were  white  as  the  light  sea-foam, 
The  beautiful  tree  was  a  lovely  sight, 

But  the  scarecrow  stood  there  so  much  at  home 
All  the  birds  flew  screaming  away  in  fright. 

The  robins,  who  watched  him  every  day, 
Heads  held  aslant,  keen  eyes  so  bright ! 

Surveying  the  monster,  began  to  say, 

"  Why  should  this  monster  our  prospects  blight  ? 


152  THE   SCARECROW 

"  He  never  moves  round  for  the  roughest  weather, 

He  's  a  harmless,  comical,  tough  old  fellow; 
Let 's  all  go  into  the  tree  together, 

For  he  won't  budge  till  the  fruit  is  mellow! " 

So  up  they  flew;  and  the  sauciest  pair 

Mid  the  shady  branches  peered  and  perked, 

Selected  a  spot  with  the  utmost  care, 
And  all  day  merrily  sang  and  worked. 

And  where  do  you  think  they  built  their  nest? 

In  the  scarecrow's  pocket,  if  you  please, 
That,  half -concealed  on  his  ragged  breast, 

Made  a  charming  covert  of  safety  and  ease ! 

By  the  time  the  cherries  were  ruby- red, 
A  thriving  family,  hungry  and  brisk, 

The  whole  long  day  on  the  ripe  fruit  fed; 
'Twas  so  convenient!     They  ran  no  risk! 

Until  the  children  were  ready  to  fly, 
All  undisturbed  they  lived  in  the  tree ; 

For  nobody  thought  to  look  at  the  Guy 
For  a  robin's  flourishing  family ! 


THE   CRADLE  153 


THE  CRADLE 

THE  barn  was  low  and  dim  and  old, 
Broad  on  the  floor  the  sunshine  slept, 

And  through  the  windows  and  the  doors 
Swift  in  and  out  the  swallows  swept. 

And  breezes  from  the  summer  sea 

Drew  through,  and  stirred  the  fragrant  hay 
Down-dropping  from  the  loft,  wherein 

A  gray  old  idle  fish-net  lay 

Heaped  in  a  corner,  and  one  loop 

Hung  loose  the  dry,  sweet  grass  among, 

And  hammock-wise  to  all  the  winds 
It  floated  to  and  fro,  and  swung. 

And  there  one  day  the  children  brought 
The  pet  of  all  the  house  to  play ; 

A  baby  boy  of  three  years  old, 

And  sweeter  than  the  dawn  of  day. 

They  laid  him  in  the  dropping  loop, 
And  softly  swung  him,  till  at  last 

Over  his  beauty  balmy  Sleep 
Its  delicate  enchantment  cast. 


154  THE   CRADLE 

And  then  they  ran  to  call  us  all: 

"Come,  see  where  little  Rob  is!     Guess!  " 

And  brought  us  where  the  darling  lay, 
A  heap  of  rosy  loveliness 

Curled  in  the  net:  the  dim  old  place 
He  brightened;  like  a  star  he  shone 

Cradled  in  air;  we  stood  as  once 
The  shepherds  of  Judea  had  done. 

And  while  adoring  him  we  gazed, 
With  eyes  that  gathered  tender  dew, 

Wrathful  upon  the  gentle  scene 
His  Celtic  nurse  indignant  flew. 

"Is  this  a  fit  place  for  the  child! " 
And  out  of  his  delicious  sleep 
She  clutched  him,  muttering  as  she  went, 
Her  scorn  and  wonder,  low  and  deep. 

His  father  smiled,  and  drew  aside; 

A  grave,  sweet  look  was  in  his  face, 
"  For  One,  who  in  a  manger  lay, 

It  was  not  found  to  poor  a  place ! " 


MARCH  155 


MARCH 

I  WONDER  what  spendthrift  chose  to  spill 
Such  bright  gold  under  my  window-sill! 
Is  it  fairy  gold?     Does  it  glitter  still? 
Bless  me !  it  is  but  a  daffodil ! 

And  look  at  the  crocuses,  keeping  tryst 
With  the  daffodil  by  the  sunshine  kissed ! 
Like  beautiful  bubbles  of  amethyst 
They  seem,  blown  out  of  the  earth's  snow-mist. 

And  snowdrops,  delicate,  fairy  bells, 
With  a  pale  green  tint  like  the  ocean  swells; 
And  the  hyacinths  weaving  their  perfumed  spells! 
The  ground  is  a  rainbow  of  asphodels! 

Who  said  that  March  was  a  scold  and  a  shrew  ? 
Who  said  she  had  nothing  on  earth  to  do 
But  tempests  and  furies  and  rages  to  brew? 
Why,  look  at  the  wealth  she  has  lavished  on  you ! 

0  March  that  blusters  and  March  that  blows, 
What  color  under  your  footsteps  glows ! 
Beauty  you  summon  from  winter  snows, 
And  you  are  the  pathway  that  leads  to  the  rose. 


156  THE   SHAG 


THE   SHAG 

1  WHAT  is  that  great  bird,  sister,  tell  me, 
Perched  high  on  the  top  of  the  crag  1 " 

"T  is  the  cormorant,  dear  little  brother; 
The  fishermen  call  it  the  shag." 

'  But  what  does  it  there,  sister,  tell  me, 
Sitting  lonely  against  the  black  sky  ? " 

;'It  has  settled  to  rest,  little  brother; 
It  hears  the  wild  gale  wailing  high." 

'But  I  am  afraid  of  it,  sister, 

For  over  the  sea  and  the  land 
It  gazes,  so  black  and  so  silent!  " 

"Little  brother,  hold  fast  to  my  hand." 

'Oh,  what  was  that,  sister?     The  thunder? 

Did  the  shag  bring  the  storm  and  the  cloud, 
The  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  lightning  ? " 
"Little  brother,  the  thunder  roars  loud. 

'Run  fast,  for  the  rain  sweeps  the  ocean; 
Look!  over  the  light-house  it  streams; 
And  the  lightning  leaps  red,  and  above  us 
The  gulls  fill  the  air  with  their  screams." 


SIR   WILLIAM   NAPIER   AND   LITTLE   JOAN       157 

O'er  the  beach,  o'er  the  rocks,  running  swiftly, 
The  little  white  cottage  they  gain; 

And  safely  they  watch  from  the  window 
The  dance  and  the  rush  of  the  rain. 

But  the  shag  kept  his  place  on  the  headland, 
And  when  the  brief  storm  had  gone  by, 

He  shook  his  loose  plumes,  and  they  saw  him 
Rise  splendid  and  strong  in  the  sky. 

Clinging  fast  to  the  gown  of  his  sister, 

The  little  boy  laughed  as  he  flew; 
"  He  is  gone  with  the  wind  and  the  lightning ! 
And  —  I  am  not  frightened,  —  are  you  1 " 


SIR  WILLIAM   NAPIER  AND  LITTLE  JOAN 

SIR  WILLIAM  NAPIER,  one  bright  day, 

Was  walking  down  the  glen, 
A  noble  English  soldier, 

And  the  handsomest  of  men. 

Among  the  fragrant  hedgerows 

He  slowly  wandered  down, 
Through  blooming  field  and  meadow, 

By  pleasant  Ereshford  town. 


158       SIR   WILLIAM   NAPIER   AND   LITTLE   JOAN 

With  look  and  mien  magnificent 
And  step  so  grand  moved  he! 

And  from  his  stately  front  outshone 
Beauty  and  majesty. 

About  his  strong  white  forehead 
The  rich  locks  thronged  and  curled 

Above  the  splendor  of  his  eyes 
That  might  command  the  world! 

A  sound  of  bitter  weeping 

Came  up  to  his  quick  ear, 
He  paused  that  instant,  bending 

His  kingly  head  to  hear. 

Among  the  grass  and  daisies 

Sat  wretched  little  Joan, 
And  near  her  lay  a  bowl  of  delf 

Broken  upon  a  stone. 

Her  cheeks  were  red  with  crying, 
And  her  blue  eyes  dull  and  dim, 

And  she  turned  her  pretty  woeful  face 
All  tear-stained  up  to  him. 

Scarce  six  years  old  and  sobbing 

In  misery  so  drear! 
"Why,  what 's  the  matter,  Posy?  " 
He  said,  "Come,  tell  me,  dear." 


SIR   WILLIAM   NAPIER   AND   LITTLE   JOAN       159 

"It 's  father's  bowl  I  'se  broken, 

'T  was  for  his  dinner  kept: 

I  took  it  safe,  but  coming  home 

It  fell, "  —  again  she  wept. 

"But  you  can  mend  it,  can't  you?  " 

Cried  the  despairing  child 
With  sudden  hope,  as  down  on  her 
Like  somfe  kind  god  he  smiled. 

"Don't  cry,  poor  little  Posy! 

I  cannot  make  it  whole, 

But  I  can  give  you  sixpence 

To  buy  another  bowl." 

He  sought  in  vain  for  silver 

In  purse  and  pockets  too, 
And  found  but  golden  guineas; 

He  pondered  what  to  do. 

"This  time  to-morrow,  Posy," 
He  said,  "again  come  here, 
And  I  will  bring  your  sixpence, 
I  promise !     Never  fear !  " 

Away  went  Joan  rejoicing, 

A  rescued  child  was  she, 
And  home  went  good  Sir  William, 

And  to  him  presently 


160       SIR   WILLIAM   NAPIER   AND   LITTLE   JOAN 

A  footman  brings  a  letter, 

And  low  before  him  bends, 
"Will  not  Sir  William  come  and  dine 
To-morrow  with  his  friends  ?  " 

The  letter  read,  "And  we  've  secured 

The  man  among  all  men 
You  wish  to  meet !     He  will  be  here; 

You  will  not  fail  us  then  ?  " 

To-morrow !  could  he  get  to  Bath 
And  dine  with  Dukes  and  Earls 

And  back  in  time  ?     That  hour  was  pledged 
It  was  the  little  girl's ! 

He  could  not  disappoint  her, 

He  must  his  friend  refuse, 
So  "  a  previous  engagement " 

He  pleaded  as  excuse. 

Next  day  when  she,  all  eager, 

Came  o'er  the  fields  so  fair, 
Not  surer  of  the  sunrise 

Than  that  she  should  find  him  there, 

He  met  her,  and  the  sixpence 

Laid  in  her  little  hand. 
Her  woe  was  ended,  and  her  heart 

The  lightest  in  the  land. 


BLUEBIRDS   IN   AUTUMN  161 

How  would  the  stately  company 

Who  had  so  much  desired 
His  presence  at  their  splendid  feast, 

Have  wondered  and  admired! 

As  soldier,  scholar,  gentleman, 

His  praises  oft  are  heard  — 
'T  was  not  the  least  of  his  great  deeds 

So  to  have  kept  his  word. 


BLUEBIRDS   IN   AUTUMN 

THE  morning  was  gray  and  cloudy, 

And  over  the  fading  land 
Autumn  was  casting  the  withered  leaves 

Abroad  with  a  lavish  hand. 

Sad  lay  the  tawny  pastures, 

Where  the  grass  was  brown  and  dry; 
And  the  far-off  hills  were  blurred  with  mist, 

Under  the  sombre  sky. 

The  frost  already  had  fallen, 

No  bird  seemed  left  to  sing; 
And  I  sighed  to  think  of  the  tempests 

Between  us  and  the  spring. 


162  BLUEBIRDS   IN   AUTUMN 

But  the  woodbine  yet  was  scarlet 
Where  it  found  a  place  to  cling; 

And  the  old  dead  weeping- willow 
Was  draped  like  a  splendid  king. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  heavens, 
Like  sapphire  sparks  of  light, 

A  flock  of  bluebirds  swept  and  lit 
In  the  woodbine  garlands  bright. 

The  tree  was  alive  in  a  moment 
With  motion,  color,  and  song; 

How  gorgeous  the  flash  of  their  azure  wings 
The  blood- red  leaves  among! 

Beautiful,  brilliant  creatures ! 

What  sudden  delight  they  brought 
Into  the  pallid  morning, 

Rebuking  my  dreary  thought! 

Only  a  few  days  longer, 

And  they  would  have  flown,  to  find 
The  wonderful,  vanished  summer, 

Leaving  darkness  and  cold  behind. 

Oh,  to  flee  from  the  bitter  weather, 
The  winter's  buffets  and  shocks,  — 

To  borrow  their  strong,  light  pinions, 
And  follow  their  shining  flocks! 


TRAGEDY  163 

While  they  sought  for  the  purple  berries, 

So  eager  and  bright  and  glad, 
I  watched  them,  dreaming  of  April, 

Ashamed  to  have  been  so  sad. 

And  I  thought,  "Though  I  cannot  follow  them, 

I  can  patiently  endure, 
And  make  the  best  of  the  snowstorms, 

And  that  is  something  more. 

'And  when  I  see  them  returning, 

All  heaven  to  earth  they  '11  bring; 
And  my  joy  will  be  the  deeper, 

For  I  shall  have  earned  the  spring." 


TEAGEDY 

"You  queer  little  wonderful  owlet!  you  atom  so  fluffy 

and  small! 
Half  a  handful  of  feathers  and  two  great  eyes  —  how 

came  you  alive  at  all  ? 
And  why  do  you  sit  here  blinking  as  blind  as  a  bat  in 

the  light, 
With  your  pale  eyes  bigger  than  saucers?     Now  who 

ever  saw  such  a  sight! 

"  And  what  ails  chickadee,  tell  me !     what  makes  him 
flutter  and  scream 


164  TRAGEDY 

Kound  and  over  you  where  you  sit  like  a  tiny  ghost  in 

a  dream? 
I  thought  him  a  sensible  fellow,  quite  steady  and  calm 

and  wise, 
But  only  see  how  he  hops  and  flits,  and  hear  how 

wildly  he  cries! 

"What  is  the  matter,  you  owlet1?  You  will  not  be 
frightened  away !  — 

Do  you  mean  on  that  twig  of  a  lilac-bush  the  whole 
night  long  to  stay  ? 

Are  you  bewitching  my  chickadee-dee?  I  really  be- 
lieve that  you  are ! 

I  wish  you'd  go  off,  you  strange  brown  bird  —  oh, 
ever  and  ever  so  far ! 

"I  fear  you  are  weaving  and  winding  some  kind  of  a 
dreadful  charm; 

If  I  leave  poor  chickadee-dee  with  you,  I  'm  sure  he 
will  come  to  harm. 

But  what  can  I  do?  We  can't  stay  here  forever 
together,  we  three  — 

One  anxious  child,  and  an  owlet  weird,  and  a  fright- 
ened chickadee-dee ! " 

I    could   not  frighten  the  owl  away,    and  chickadee 

would  not  come, 
So  I  just  ran  off  with  a  heavy  heart,   and  told  my 

mother  at  home; 


JACK   FROST  165 

But  when  my  brothers  and  sisters  went  the  curious 

sight  to  see, 
The  owl  was  gone,  and  there  lay  on  the  ground  two 

feathers  of  chickadee-dee ! 


JACK   FROST 

KUSTILY  creak  the  crickets:  Jack  Frost  came  down 
last  night, 

He  slid  to  the  earth  on  a  starbeam,  keen  and  sparkling 
and  bright; 

He  sought  in  the  grass  for  the  crickets  with  delicate 
icy  spear, 

So  sharp  and  fine  and  fatal,  and  he  stabbed  them  far 
and  near. 

Only  a  few  stout  fellows,  thawed  by  the  morning  sun, 

Chirrup  a  mournful  echo  of  by-gone  frolic  and  fun. 

But  yesterday  such  a  rippling  chorus  ran  all  over  the 
land, 

Over  the  hills  and  the  valleys,  down  to  the  gray  sea- 
sand, 

Millions  of  merry  harlequins,  skipping  and  dancing  in 


Cricket  and  locust  and  grasshopper,   happy  as  happy 

could  be: 
Scooping  rich  caves  in  ripe  apples,   and  feeding  on 

honey  and  spice, 
Drunk  with  the   mellow   sunshine,    nor  dreaming   of 

spears  of  ice! 


166  JACK   FROST 

Was  it  not  enough  that  the  crickets  your  weapon  of 
power  should  pierce  ? 

Pray  what  have  you  done  to  the  flowers  1  Jack  Frost, 
you  are  cruel  and  fierce. 

With  never  a  sign  or  a  whisper,  you  kissed  them,  and 
lo,  they  exhale 

Their  beautiful  lives;  they  are  drooping,  their  sweet 
color  ebbs,  they  are  pale, 

They  fade  and  they  die !  See  the  pansies,  yet  striving 
so  hard  to  unfold 

Their  garments  of  velvety  splendor,  all  Tyrian  purple 
and  gold. 

But  how  weary  they  look,  and  how  withered,  like 
handsome  court  dames,  who  all  night 

Have  danced  at  the  ball  till  the  sunrise  struck  chill  to 
their  hearts  with  its  light. 

Where  hides  the  wood-aster?  She  vanished  as  snow- 
wreaths  dissolve  in  the  sun 

The  moment  you  touched  her.  Look  yonder,  where, 
sober  and  gray  as  a  nun, 

The  maple-tree  stands  that  at  sunset  was  blushing  as 
red  as  the  sky; 

At  its  foot,  glowing  scarlet  as  fire,  its  robes  of  magnifi- 
cence lie. 

Despoiler !  stripping  the  world  as  you  strip  the  shiv- 
ering tree 

Of  color  and  sound  and  perfume,  scaring  the  bird  and 
the  bee, 


A  LULLABY  167 

Turning  beauty  to  ashes,  —  oh,  to  join  the  swift  swal- 
lows and  fly 

Far  away  out  of  sight  of  your  mischief!  I  give  you 
no  welcome,  not  I! 


A   LULLABY 

SLEEP,  my  darling,  sleep! 

Thunders  the  pitiless  storm; 
Fiercely  at  window  and  door 
Wrestle  the  winds  and  roar: 
Thy  slumber  is  deep  and  warm. 

Sleep,  my  darling,  sleep! 

Sleep,  my  baby,  sleep! 

Over  thy  beautiful  head, 
Lightly,  softly,  and  close, 
Sweeter  than  lily  or  rose, 
Thy  mother's  kisses  are  shed. 

Sleep,  my  baby,  sleep! 

Sleep,  my  darling,  sleep! 

Safe  in  these  arms,  my  own, 
Summer  shall  wrap  thee  round; 
Never  harsh  touch  or  sound 
Break  through  that  charmed  zone. 

Sleep,  then,  darling,  sleep! 


168  APRIL   AND   MAY 

Sleep,  my  angel,  sleep! 

Nestle  against  my  heart, 
Sunk  in  a  golden  calm,  — 
Delicate,  breathing  of  balm, 
All  my  heaven  thou  art, 

Sleep,  my  angel,  sleep! 


APRIL  AND   MAY 


BIRDS  on  the  boughs  before  the  buds 

Begin  to  burst  in  the  Spring, 
Bending  their  heads  to  the  April  floods, 

Too  much  out  of  breath  to  sing! 

They  chirp,  "Hey-day !     How  the  rain  comes  down ! 

Comrades,  cuddle  together! 
Cling  to  the  bark  so  rough  and  brown, 

For  this  is  April  weather. 

"Oh,  the  warm,  beautiful,  drenching  rain! 

I  don't  mind  it,  do  you? 
Soon  will  the  sky  be  clear  again, 
Smiling,  and  fresh,  and  blue. 

"  Sweet  and  sparkling  is  every  drop 

That  slides  from  the  soft,  gray  clouds; 


APRIL   AND   MAY  169 

Blossoms  will  blush  to  the  very  top 
Of  the  bare  old  tree  in  crowds. 

"Oh,  the  warm,  delicious,  hopeful  rain! 

Let  us  be  glad  together. 
Summer  comes  flying  in  beauty  again, 
Through  the  fitful  April  weather." 


Skies  are  glowing  in  gold  and  blue; 

What  did  the  brave  birds  say  ? 
Plenty  of  sunshine  to  come,  they  knew, 

In  the  pleasant  month  of  May ! 

She  calls  a  breeze  from  the  South  to  blow, 
And  breathe  on  the  boughs  so  bare, 

And  straight  they  are  laden  with  rosy  snow, 
And  there  's  honey  and  spice  in  the  air ! 

Oh,  the  glad,  green  leaves !    Oh,  the  happy  wind ! 

Oh,  delicate  fragrance  and  balm! 
Storm  and  tumult  are  left  behind 

In  a  rapture  of  golden  calm. 

From  dewy  morning  to  starry  night 

The  birds  sing  sweet  and  strong, 
That  the  radiant  sky  is  filled  with  light, 

That  the  days  are  fair  and  long. 


170  ROBIN'S   RAIN-SONG 

That  bees  are  drowsy  about  the  hive  — 
Earth  is  so  warm  and  gay ! 

And  'tis  joy  enough  to  be  alive 
In  the  heavenly  month  of  May ! 


KOBIN'S   KAIN-SONG 

0  ROBIN,  pipe  no  more  of  rain, 

'Tis  four  days  since  we  saw  the  sun, 

And  still  the  misty  window-pane 

Is  loud  with  drops  that  leap  and  run. 

Four  days  ago  the  sky  was  clear, 

But  when  my  mother  heard  you  call, 

She  said,  "That's  Robin's  rain-song,  dear: 
Oh,  well  he  knows  when  rain  will  fall ! " 

Fair  was  the  morning,  and  I  wept 
Because  she  would  not  let  me  stray 

Into  the  woods  for  flowers,  but  kept 
My  feet  from  wandering  away. 

And  I  was  vexed  to  hear  you  cry 
So  sweetly  of  the  coming  storm, 

And  watched  with  brimming  eyes  the  sky 
Grow  cold  and  dim  from  clear  and  warm. 


A   SONG   OF   EASTER  171 

It  seemed  to  me  you  brought  it  all 
With  that  incessant,  plaintive  note; 

And  still  you  call  the  drops  to  fall 
Upon  your  brown  and  scarlet  coat. 

How  nice  to  be  a  bird  like  you, 

And  let  the  rain  come  pattering  down, 

Nor  mind  a  bit  to  be  wet  through, 
Nor  fear  to  spoil  one's  only  gown! 

But  since  I  cannot  be  a  bird, 

Sweet  Robin,  pipe  no  more  of  rain! 

Your  merrier  music  is  preferred; 
Forget  at  last  that  sad  refrain! 

And  tell  us  of  the  sunshine,  dear  — 

I  'm  wild  to  be  abroad  again, 
Seeking  for  blossoms  far  and  near: 

0  Robin,  pipe  no  more  of  rain ! 


A   SONG   OF  EASTER 

SING,  children,  sing! 
And  the  lily  censers  swing; 
Sing  that  life  and  joy  are  waking  and  that  Death  no 

more  is  king. 

Sing  the  happy,  happy  tumult  of  the  slowly  brighten- 
ing Spring; 

Sing,  little  children,  sing! 


172  A   SONG   OF   EASTER 

Sing,  children,  sing! 

Winter  wild  has  taken  wing. 
Fill  the  air  with  the  sweet  tidings  till  the  frosty  echoes 

ring! 

Along  the  eaves  the  icicles  no  longer  glittering  cling, 
And  the  crocus  in  the  garden  lifts  its  bright  face  to 

the  sun, 
And  in  the  meadows  softly  the  brooks  begin  to  run, 

And  the  golden  catkins  swing 

In  the  warm  airs  of  the  Spring; 

Sing,  little  children,  sing! 

Sing,  children,  sing! 
The  lilies  white  you  bring 

In  the  joyous  Easter  morning  for  hope  are  blossoming; 
And  as  the  earth  her  shroud  of  snow  from  off  her 

breast  doth  fling, 

So  may  we  cast  our  fetters  off  in  God's  eternal  Spring. 
So  may  we  find  release  at  last  from  sorrow  and  from 

pain, 
So  may  we  find  our  childhood's  calm,  delicious  dawn 

again. 
Sweet  are  your  eyes,    0  little   ones,   that  look  with 

smiling  grace, 
Without  a  shade  of  doubt  or  fear  into  the  future's  face ! 

Sing,  sing  in  happy  chorus,  with  joyful  voices  tell 
That  death  is  life,   and  God  is  good,   and  all  things 
shall  be  well; 


PERSEVERANCE  173 

That  bitter  days  shall  cease 
In  warmth  and  light  and  peace, 
That  Winter  yields  to  Spring,  — 
Sing,  little  children,  sing! 


PERSEVERANCE 

OUT  I  went  in  the  morning,  to  look  at  my  garden  gay: 
Everything   shone  with    the  dewdrops  that  sparkling 

and  trembling  lay 
Scattered  to  left  and  to  right,   and  the  webs  of  the 

spiders  were  hung 
Thickly  with  pearls  and  diamonds;  light  in  the  wind 

they  swung. 

Down  in  a  corner,  my  sunflower,  tall  as  a  lilac-tree, 
Shook  out  his  tattered  golden  flags,   and   bowed  and 

nodded  to  me. 

Rather  heavy-headed  was  he,  for  that  I  did  not  care, 
For  he  blazed  all  over  with  flowers,  though  rather  the 

worse  for  wear. 

And  under  the  sunfloAver,  on  the  fence,  a  little  brown 

bird  sat, 
Trying  to  sing;  you  never  heard  such  a  queer  little 

song  as  that! 

A  soft  brown  baby  sparrow,  without  any  tail  at  all, 
Trying  his  voice  as  he  sat  alone  beneath  the  sunflower 

tall. 


174  PERSEVERANCE 

He  couldn't  sing  in  the  least,  you  know;  he  quavered 

and  quavered  again, 
Seeking  so   hard   to    recollect   his   father's    beautiful 

strain ! 
But  his  young  voice  was  hoarse  and  weak;  he  could 

not  find  the  tune 
He  used  to  hear  above  the  nest  in  the  happy  days  of 

June. 

But  not  at  all  was  he  daunted;  he  warbled  it  o'er  and 

o'er, 
And  every  time  I  thought  it  grew  more  comical  than 

before. 
The  very  sunflower  seemed  to  laugh  at  the  fluffy  little 

bird, 
His  broad,  bright  faces  seemed  to  say,  "Was  ever  such 

music  heard ! " 

I  said,  "Never  mind,  my  darling;  you'll  conquer  it 
by  and  by, 

For  never  baby  or  bird  could  fail,  with  so  much  cour- 
age to  try ! " 

So  I  left  him  there,  still  singing,  and  I  heard  him 
every  day 

Doing  bravely  his  little  best,  till  winter  drove  him 
away. 


RESCUED  175 

The   dear  bird  and  the   golden    flower!     I    mourned 

when  chilly  snow 
Sent  south  the  small  musician  and  laid  the  sunflower 

low. 
But   I  was   sure,    when    in  the   spring  the   sparrows 

should  return, 
His  singing  would  be  perfect,  for  he  strove  so  hard  to 

learn. 

RESCUED 

"LITTLE  lad,  slow  wandering  across  the  sands  so  yel- 
low, 

Leading  safe  a  lassie  small,  —  oh,  tell  me,  little  fellow, 
Whither  go  you  loitering  in  the  summer  weather, 
Chattering  like    sweet-voiced   birds    on   a    bough   to- 
gether?" 

"I  am  Robert,   if  you  please,   and  this  is  Eose,   my 

sister, 
Youngest  of  us  all,"  —  he  bent  his   curly  head  and 

kissed  her; 
"Every  day  we  come  and  wait  here  till  the  sun  is 

setting, 
Watching  for  our  father's  ship,   for  mother  dear  is 

fretting. 


176  RESCUED 

"  Long  ago  he  sailed  away  out  of  sight  and  hearing, 
Straight  across  the  bay  he  went,  into  sunset  steering. 
Every  day  we  look  for  him,  and  hope  for  his  returning, 
Every  night  my  mother   keeps   the    candle   for   him 
burning. 

"  Summer  goes  and  Winter  comes,  and  Spring  returns, 
but  never 

Father's  step  comes  to  the  gate.  Oh !  is  he  gone  for- 
ever? 

The  great  grand  ship  that  bore  him  off,  think  you  some 
tempest  wrecked  her  ?  " 

Tears  shone  in  little  Kose's  eyes,  upturned  to  her 
protector. 

Eagerly  the  bonny  boy  went  on:  "Oh,  sir,  look  yon- 
der! 

In  the  offing  see  the  sails  that  east  and  westward 
wander; 

Every  hour  they  come  and  go,  the  misty  distance 
thronging, 

While  we  watch  and  see  them  fade,  with  sorrow  and 
with  longing." 

"Little  Eobert!  little  Kose!"     The   stranger's   eyes 

were  glistening, 

At  his  bronzed  and  bearded  face  upgazed  the  children, 
listening; 


THE   COCKATOOS  177 

He  knelt  upon  the  yellow  sand,  and  clasped  them  to 
his  bosom, 

Kobert  brave,  and  little  Kose,  as  bright  as  any  blos- 
som. 

"Father!  Father!  Is  it  you?"  The  still  air  rings 
with  rapture; 

All  the  vanished  joy  of  years  the  waiting  ones  recap- 
ture! 

Finds  he  welcome  wild  and  sweet,  the  low-thatched 
cottage  reaching, 

But  the  ship  that  into  sunset  steered  upon  the  rocks 
lies  bleaching. 

THE   COCKATOOS 

EMPTY  the  throne-chair  stood;  mayhap 
The  king  was  taking  his  royal  nap, 
For  early  it  was  in  the  afternoon 
Of  a  drowsy  day  in  the  month  of  June. 

And  the  palace  doors  were  open  wide 

To  the  soft  and  dreamful  airs  outside, 

And  the  blue  sky  burned  with  the  summer  glow, 

And  the  trees  cool  masses  of  shade  did  throw. 

The  throne-chair  stood  in  a  splendid  room. 
There  were  velvets  in  ruby  and  purple  bloom, 


178  THE   COCKATOOS 

Curtains  magnificent  to  see, 

And  a  table  draped  most  sumptuously. 

And  on  the  table  a  cushion  lay 
Colored  like  clouds  at  the  close  of  day, 
And  a  crown,  rich- sparkling  with  myriad  rays, 
Shone  on  the  top,  in  a  living  blaze. 

And  nobody  spoke  and  nobody  stirred 
Except  a  bird  that  sat  by  a  bird,  — 
Two  cockatoos  on  a  lofty  perch, 
Sober  and  grave  as  monks  in  a  church. 

Gay  with  the  glory  of  painted  plume, 
Their  bright  hues  suited  the  brilliant  room; 
Green  and  yellow,  and  rose  and  blue, 
Scarlet  and  orange,  and  jet  black,  too. 

Said  one  to  the  other,  eying  askance 
The  beautiful  fleur-de-lis  of  France 
On  the  cushion's  lustrous  edge,  set  round 
In  gleaming  gold  on  a  violet  ground,  — 

Said  one  to  the  other,  "Kocco,  my  dear, 
If  any  thief  were  to  enter  here, 
He  might  take  crown  and  cushion  away, 
And  who  would  be  any  the  wiser,  pray  1 " 


THE   COCKATOOS  179 

Said  Rocco,  "  How  stupid,  my  dear  Coquette ! 
A  guard  is  at  every  threshold  set; 
No  thief  could  enter,  much  less  get  out, 
Without  the  sentinel's  warning  shout." 

She  tossed  her  head,  did  the  bright  Coquette. 
"Rocco,  my  dear,  now  what  will  you  bet 
That  the  guards  are  not  sleeping  this  moment  as  sound 
As  the  king  himself,  all  the  palace  round? 

"  'T  is  very  strange,  so  it  seems  to  me, 
That  they  leave  things  open  so  carelessly; 
Really,  I  think  it 's  a  little  absurd 
All  this  should  be  left  to  the  care  of  a  bird! 

"And  what  is  that  creaking  so  light  and  queer? 
Listen  a  moment.     There!  Don't  you  hear? 
And  what  is  that  moving  the  curtain  behind  ? 
Rocco,  my  dear,  are  you  deaf  and  blind  ? " 

The  heavy  curtain  was  pushed  away 
And  a  shaggy  head,  unkempt  and  gray, 
From  the  costly  folds  looked  doubtful  out, 
And  eagerly  everywhere  peered  about. 

And  the  dull  eyes  lighted  upon  the  blaze 
Of  the  gorgeous  crown  with  a  startled  gaze, 
And  out  of  the  shadow  the  figure  stepped 
And  softly  over  the  carpet  crept. 


180  THE   COCKATOOS 

And  nobody  spoke  and  nobody  stirred, 
And  the  one  bird  sat  by  the  other  bird, 
Both  overpowered  by  their  surprise; 
They  really  couldn't  believe  their  eyes! 

Swiftly  the  madman,  in  fear's  despite, 
Darted  straight  to  that  hill  of  light; 
The  frightened  birds  saw  the  foolish  wretch 
His  hand  to  the  wondrous  thing  outstretch. 

Then  both  at  once  such  an  uproar  raised 
That  the  king  himself  rushed  in,  amazed, 
Half  awake,  in  his  dressing-gown, 
And  there  on  the  floor  lay  the  sacred  crown! 

And  he  caught  a  glimpse  through  the  portal  wide 
Of  a  pair  of  flying  heels  outside, 
And  he  shouted  in  royal  wrath,  "  What  ho ! 
Where  are  my  people,  I  'd  like  to  know! " 

They  ran  to  the  rescue  in  terror  great. 
"Is  this  the  way  that  you  guard  my  state? 
Had  it  not  been  for  my  cockatoos 
My  very  crown  I  had  chanced  to  lose ! " 

They  sought  in  the  shrubbery  to  and  fro, 
Wherever  they  thought  the  thief  might  go; 
They  looked  through  the  garden,  but  all  in  vain, 
They  searched  the  forest,  they  scoured  the  plain. 


THE   DOUBLE   SUNFLOWER  181 

They  gave  it  up,  for  they  could  not  choose. 
But  oh,  the  pride  of  those  cockatoos ! 
If  they  were  admired  and  petted  before, 
Now  they  were  utterly  spoiled,  be  sure ! 

They  'd  a  special  servant  on  them  to  wait, 
To  do  their  pleasure  early  and  late: 
They  grew  so  haughty  and  proud  and  grand, 
Their  fame  was  spread  over  all  the  land. 

And  when  they  died  it  made  such  a  stir! 
And  their  skins  were  stuffed  with  spice  and  myrrh. 
And  from  their  perch  they  still  look  down, 
As  on  the  day  when  they  saved  the  crown. 

THE   DOUBLE   SUNFLOWER 

THE  sunflowers  hung  their  banners  out  in  the  sweet 
September  weather; 

A  stately  company  they  stood  by  the  garden  fence  to- 
gether, 

And  looked  out  on  the  shining  sea  that  bright  and 
brighter  grew, 

And  slowly  bowed  their  golden  heads  to  every  wind 
that  blew. 

But  the  double  sunflower  bloomed  apart,  far  prouder 
than  the  rest, 


182  THE   DOUBLE   SUNFLOWER 

And  by  his  crown's  majestic  weight  he  seemed  almost 

oppressed. 

He  held  himself  aloof  upon  his  tall  and  slender  stem, 
And  gloried  in  the  splendor  of  his  double  diadem. 

All  clothed  in  bells  of  lovely  blue,   a  morning-glory 

vine 
Could  find  no  friendly  stick  or  stalk  about  which  she 

might  twine; 
And  prone  upon  the  ground  near  by,  with  blossoms 

red  as  fire, 
A  scarlet  runner  lay   for  lack  of   means   to  clamber 

higher. 

They  both  perceived  the  sunflower  tall  who  proudly 

stood  aside; 
Nothing  to  them  was  his  grand  air  of  majesty  and 

pride ; 
With  one  accord  they  charged  at  him,  and  up  his  stalk 

they  ran, 
And  straight  to  hang  their  red  and  blue  all  over  him 

began. 

Oh,  then  he  was  magnificent,  all  azure,  gold,  and 
flame! 

But,  woe  is  me !  an  autumn  breeze  from,  out  the  north- 
west came; 


IN  THE   BLACK   FOREST  183 

With  all  their  leaves  and  flowers  the  vines  about  him 

closely  wound, 
And  with  that  keen  wind's  help  at  once  they  dragged 

him  to  the  ground. 

I  found  him  there  next  morning,  his  pomp  completely 

wrecked, 
His  prostrate  form  all  gorgeously  with  tattered  blooms 

bedecked. 
"Alas!"  I  said,  "no  power  on  earth  your  glory  can 

recall! 
Did  you  not  know,  dear  sunflower,    that  pride  must 

have  a  fall?" 

I  raised  him  up  and  bore  him  in,  and,  ere  he  faded 

quite, 

In  the  corner  he  stood  splendid  awhile  for  our  delight ; 
But  his  humbler,  single  brethren,  in  the  garden,  every 

one, 
With  shining  disks  and  golden  rays  stayed  gazing  at 

the  sun. 

IN   THE   BLACK   FOREST 

UP  through  the  great  Black  Forest, 

So  wild  and  wonderful, 
We  climbed  in  the  autumn  afternoon 

'Mid  the  shadows  deep  and  cool. 


184  IN  THE   BLACK   FOREST 

We  climbed  to  the  Grand  Duke's  castle 

That  stood  on  the  airy  height; 
Above  the  leagues  of  pine-trees  dark 

It  shone  in  the  yellow  light. 

We  saw  how  the  peasant  women 

Were  toiling  along  the  way, 
In  open  spaces  here  and  there, 

That  steeped  in  the  sunshine  lay. 

They  gathered  the  autumn  harvest  — 
All  toil-worn  and  weather-browned; 

They  gathered  the  roots  they  had  planted  in  spring, 
And  piled  them  up  on  the  ground. 

We  heard  the  laughter  of  children, 

And  merrily  down  the  road 
Ran  little  Max  with  a  rattling  cart, 

Heaped  up  with  a  heavy  load. 


Upon  orange  carrots,  and  beets  so  red, 
And  turnips  smooth  and  white, 

With  leaves  of  green  all  packed  between, 
Sat  the  little  Eosel  bright. 

Around  the  edge  of  her  wee  white  cap 
The  wind  blew  out  her  curls  — 


IN   THE   BLACK   FOREST  185 

A  sweeter  face  I  have  never  seen 
Than  this  happy  little  girl's. 

A  spray  of  the  carrot's  foliage  fine, 

Soft  as  a  feather  of  green, 
Drooped  over  her  head  from  behind  her  ear 

As  proud  as  the  plume  of  a  queen. 

Light  was  his  burden  to  merry  Max, 

With  Eosel  perched  above, 
And  he  gazed  at  her  on  that  humble  throne 

With  eyes  of  pride  and  love. 

With  joyful  laughter  they  passed  us  by, 

As  up  through  the  forest  of  pine, 
So  solemn  and  still,  we  made  our  way 

To  the  castle  of  Eberstein. 

Oh,  vast  and  dim  and  beautiful 

Were  the  dark  woods'  shadowy  aisles, 

And  all  their  silent  depths  seemed  lit 
With  the  children's  golden  smiles. 

Oh,  lofty  the  Grand  Duke's  castle 

That  looked  o'er  the  forest  gloom; 
But  better  I  love  to  remember 

The  children's  rosy  bloom. 


186  AN   OLD   SAW 

And  sweet  is  the  picture  I  brought  away 
From  the  wild  Black  Forest  shade, 

Of  proud  and  happy  and  merry  Max, 
And  Rosel,  the  little  niaid. 


AN   OLD   SAW 

A  DEAR  little  maid  came  skipping  out 
In  the  glad  new  day,  with  a  merry  shout; 
With  dancing  feet  and  flying  hair 
She  sang  with  joy  in  the  morning  air. 

"Don't   sing   before   breakfast,    you  'II    cry   before 

night !  " 

What  a  croak,  to  darken  the  child's  delight! 
And  the  stupid  old  nurse,  again  and  again, 
Repeated  the  ancient,  dull  refrain. 

The  child  paused,  trying  to  understand; 
But  her  eyes  saw  the  great  world  rainbow-spanned : 
Her  light  little  feet  hardly  touched  the  earth, 
And  her  soul  brimmed  over  with  innocent  mirth. 

"Never  mind,  — don't  listen,  0  sweet  little  maid! 
Make  sure  of  your  morning  song,"  I  said; 
"And  if  pain  must  meet  you,  why,  all  the  more 
Be  glad  of  the  rapture  that  came  before." 


CRADLE   SONG  187 


CEADLE   SONG 

IN  the  winged  cradle  of  sleep  I  lay 

My  darling  gently  down; 
Kissed  and  closed  are  his  eyes  of  gray, 

Under  his  curls'  bright  crown. 

Where,  oh,  where,  will  he  fly  and  float, 
In  the  winged  cradle  of  sleep  ? 

Whom  will  he  meet  in  the  worlds  remote, 
While  he  slumbers  soft  and  deep  1 

Warm  and  sweet  as  a  white  blush  rose, 

His  small  hand  lies  in  mine, 
But  I  cannot  follow  him  where  he  goes, 

And  he  gives  no  word  nor  sign. 

Keep  him  safe,  ye  heavenly  powers, 

In  dreamland  vast  and  dim, 
Let  no  ill,  through  the  night's  long  hours, 

Come  nigh  to  trouble  him. 

Give  him  back,  when  the  dawn  shall  break, 
With  his  matchless  baby  charms, 

With  his  love  and  his  beauty  all  awake, 
Into  my  happy  arms! 


188  MARJORIE 


MAKJORIE 

MARJOEIE  hides  in  the  deep,  sweet  grass; 

Purple  its  tops  bend  over; 
Softly  and  warmly  the  breezes  pass, 

And  bring  her  the  scent  of  the  clover. 

Butterflies  flit,  and  the  banded  bee 

Booms  in  the  air  above  her; 
Green  and  golden  lady-bugs  three 

Marjorie's  nest  discover. 

Up  to  the  top  of  the  grass  so  tall 
Creep  they  while  Marjorie  gazes; 

Blows  the  wind  suddenly,  —  down  they  fall 
Into  the  disks  of  the  daisies! 

Brown- eyed  Marjorie!     Who,  do  you  think, 

Sings  in  the  sun  so  loudly  ? 
Marjorie  smiles.      "  'T  is  the  bobolink, 

Caroling  gayly  and  proudly." 

Bright-locked  Marjorie !     What  floats  down 
Through  the  golden  air,  and  lingers 

Light  on  your  head  as  a  cloudy  crown, 
Pink  as  your  rosy  fingers  1 


KING   MIDAS  189 

"Apple-blossoms!"  she  laughing  cries, 

"Beautiful  boats  come  sailing 
Out  of  the  branches  held  up  to  the  skies, 
Over  the  orchard  railing." 

Happy,  sweet  Marjorie,  hidden  away, 

Birds,  butterflies,  bees  above  her; 
With  flowers  and  perfumes,  and  lady-bugs  gay; 

Everything  seems  to  love  her! 


KING   MIDAS 

HEARD  you,  0  little  children, 

This  wonderful  story  told 
Of  the  Phrygian  king  whose  fatal  touch 

Turned  everything  to  gold? 

In  a  great,  dim,  dreary  chamber, 

Beneath  the  palace  floor, 
He  counted  his  treasures  of  glittering  coin, 

And  he  always  longed  for  more. 

When  the  clouds  in  the  blaze  of  sunset 

Burned  flaming  fold  on  fold, 
He  thought  how  fine  a  thing  't  would  be 

Were  they  but  real  gold! 


190  KING   MIDAS 

And  when  his  dear  little  daughter, 

The  child  he  loved  so  well, 
Came  bringing  in  from  the  pleasant  fields 

The  yellow  asphodel, 

Or  buttercups  from  the  meadow, 

Or  dandelions  gay, 
King  Midas  would  look  at  the  blossoms  sweet, 

And  she  would  hear  him  say,  — 

"  If  only  the  flowers  were  really 

Golden  as  they  appear, 
'T  were  worth  your  while  to  gather  them, 
My  little  daughter  dear!  " 

One  day  in  the  dim,  drear  chamber, 

As  he  counted  his  treasure  o'er, 
A  sunbeam  slipped  through  a  chink  in  the  wall 

And  quivered  down  to  the  floor. 

"Would  it  were  gold,"  he  muttered, 

"That  broad  bright  yellow  bar! " 
Suddenly  stood  in  its  mellow  light, 
A  figure  bright  as  a  star. 

Young  and  ruddy  and  glorious, 

With  face  as  fresh  as  the  day, 
With  a  winged  cap  and  winged  heels, 

And  eyes  both  wise  and  gay. 


KING  MIDAS  191 

"  Oh,  have  your  wish,  King  Midas, " 

A  heavenly  voice  begun, 
Like  all  sweet  notes  of  the  morning 
Braided  and  blended  in  one. 

"And  when  to-morrow's  sunrise 

Wakes  you  with  rosy  fire, 
All  things  you  touch  shall  turn  to  gold, 
Even  as  you  desire." 

King  Midas  slept.      The  morning 

At  last  stole  up  the  sky, 
And  woke  him,  full  of  eagerness 

The  wondrous  spell  to  try. 

And  lo!  the  bed  's  fine  draperies 

Of  linen  fair  and  cool, 
Of  quilted  satin  and  cobweb  lace, 

And  blankets  of  snowy  wool, 

All  had  been  changed  with  the  sun's  first  ray 

To  marvelous  cloth  of  gold, 
That  rippled  and  shimmered  as  soft  as  silk 

In  many  a  gorgeous  fold. 

But  all  this  splendor  weighed  so  much 

'T  was  irksome  to  the  king, 
And  up  he  sprang  to  try  at  once 

The  touch  on  everything. 


192  KING   MIDAS 

The  heavy  tassel  that  he  grasped 

Magnificent  became, 
And  hung  by  the  purple  curtain  rich 

Like  a  glowing  mass  of  flame. 

At  every  step,  on  every  side, 

Such  splendor  followed  him, 
The  very  sunbeams  seemed  to  pale, 

And  morn  itself  grow  dim. 

But  when  he  came  to  the  water 

For  his  delicious  bath, 
And  dipped  his  hand  in  the  surface  smooth, 

He  started  in  sudden  wrath; 

For  the  liquid,  light  and  leaping, 

So  crystal-bright  and  clear, 
Grew  a  solid  lake  of  heavy  gold, 

And  the  king  began  to  fear! 

But  out  he  went  to  the  garden, 
So  fresh  in  the  morning  hour, 

And  a  thousand  buds  in  the  balmy  night 
Had  burst  into  perfect  flower. 

'T  was  a  world  of  perfume  and  color, 
Of  tender  and  delicate  bloom, 

But  only  the  hideous  thirst  for  wealth 
In  the  king's  heart  found  room. 


KING  MIDAS  193 

He  passed  like  a  spirit  of  autumn 

Through  that  fair  space  of  bloom, 
And  the  leaves  and  the  flowers  grew  yellow 

In  a  dull  and  senseless  gloom. 

Back  to  the  lofty  palace 

Went  the  glad  monarch  then, 
And  sat  at  his  sumptuous  breakfast, 

Most  fortunate  of  men ! 

He  broke  the  fine,  white  wheaten  roll, 

The  light  and  wholesome  bread, 
And  it  turned  to  a  lump  of  metal  rich  — 

It  had  as  well  been  lead ! 

Again  did  fear  assail  the  king, 

When  —  what  was  this  he  heard  ? 
The  voice  of  his  little  daughter  dear, 

As  sweet  as  a  grieving  bird. 

Sobbing  she  stood  before  him, 

And  a  golden  rose  held  she, 
And  the  tears  that  brimmed  her  blue,  blue  eyes 

Were  pitiful  to  see. 

1  Father !  0  father  clearest ! 

This  dreadful  thing  —  oh,  see ! 
Oh,  what  has  happened  to  all  the  flowers  ? 

Tell  me,  what  can  it  be  ?  " 


194  KING   MIDAS 

"Why  should  you  cry,  my  daughter? 

Are  not  these  blossoms  of  gold 

Beautiful,  precious,  and  wonderful, 

With  splendor  not  to  be  told? " 

"I  hate  them,  0  my  father! 

They  're  stiff  and  hard  and  dead, 

That  were  so  sweet  and  soft  and  fair, 

And  blushed  so  warm  and  red." 

"Come  here,"  he  cried,  "my  darling," 

And  bent,  her  cheek  to  kiss, 
To  comfort  her  —  when  —  Heavenly  Powers ! 
What  fearful  thing  was  this  ? 

He  sank  back,  shuddering  and  aghast, 
But  she  stood  still  as  death  — 

A  statue  of  horrible  gleaming  gold, 
With  neither  motion  nor  breath. 

The  gold  tears  hardened  on  her  cheek, 

The  gold  rose  in  her  hand, 
Even  her  little  sandals  changed 

To  gold,  where  she  did  stand. 

Then  such  a  tumult  of  despair 

The  wretched  king  possessed, 
He  wrung  his  hands,  and  tore  his  hair, 

And  sobbed,  and  beat  his  breast. 


KING   MIDAS  195 

Weighed  with  one  look  from  her  sweet  eyes 
What  was  the  whole  world  worth? 

Against  one  touch  of  her  loving  lips, 
The  treasure  of  all  the  earth? 

Then  came  that  voice,  like  music, 

As  fresh  as  the  morning  air, 
"How  is  it  with  you,  King  Midas, 
Rich  in  your  answered  prayer  ?  " 

And  there,  in  the  sunshine  smiling, 

Majestic  as  before, 
Kuddy  and  young  and  glorious, 

The  Stranger  stood  once  more. 

"Take  back  your  gift  so  terrible! 

No  blessing,  but  a  curse ! 
One  loving  heart  more  precious  is 
Than  the  gold  of  the  universe." 

The  Stranger  listened  —  a  sweeter  smile 

Kindled  his  grave,  bright  eyes. 
"Glad  am  I,  0  King  Midas, 

That  you  have  grown  so  wise ! 

"Again  your  wish  is  granted; 
More  swiftly  than  before, 
All  you  have  harmed  with  the  fatal  touch 
You  shall  again  restore." 


196  WILD   GEESE 

He  clasped  his  little  daughter  — 

Oh,  joy !  —  within  his  arms 
She  trembled  back  to  her  human  self, 

With  all  her  human  charms. 

Across  her  face  he  saw  the  life 

Beneath  his  kiss  begin, 
And  steal  to  the  charming  dimple  deep 

Upon  her  lovely  chin. 

Again  her  eyes  grew  blue  and  clear, 

Again  her  cheek  flushed  red; 
She  locked  her  arms  about  his  neck, 

"My  father  dear!"  she  said. 

Oh,  happy  was  King  Midas, 

Against  his  heart  to  hold 
His  treasure  of  love,  more  precious 

Than  a  thousand  worlds  of  gold! 

WILD   GEESE 

THE  wind  blows,  the  sun  shines,  the  birds  sing  loud, 
The  blue,  blue  sky  is  flecked  with  fleecy  dappled  cloud, 
Over  earth's  rejoicing  fields  the  children   dance   and 

sing, 
And  the  frogs  pipe  in  chorus,   "It  is  spring!     It  is 

spring ! " 


THE   HYLAS  197 

The  grass  comes,   the  flower  laughs  where  lately  lay 

the  snow, 

O'er  the  breezy  hill- top  hoarsely  calls  the  crow, 
By  the  flowing  river  the  alder  catkins  swing, 
And  the  sweet  song  sparrow  cries,   "Spring!     It  is 

spring ! " 

Hark,  what  a  clamor  goes  winging  through  the  sky ! 
Look,   children!     Listen   to  the  sound  so  wild   and 

high! 

Like  a  peal  of  broken  bells,  —  kling,  klang,  kling,  — 
Far  and   high  the   wild   geese  cry,    "Spring!     It  is 

spring ! " 

Bear  the  winter  off  with  you,  0  wild  geese  dear ! 

Carry  all  the  cold  away,  far  away  from  here; 

Chase  the  snow  into  the  north,  0  strong  of  heart  and 

wing, 
While  we  share  the  robin's  rapture,  crying,  "Spring! 

It  is  spring!  " 


THE   HYLAS 

IN  the  crimson  sunsets  of  the  spring, 

Children,  have  you  heard  the  hylas  pipe, 

Ere  with  robin's  note  the  meadows  ring, 
Ere  the  silver  willow  buds  are  ripe? 


198  THE   HYLAS 

Long  before  the  swallow  dares  appear, 
When  the  April  weather  frees  the  brooks, 

Sweet  and  high  a  liquid  note  you  hear, 
Sounding  clear  at  eve  from  wooded  nooks. 

'T  is  the  hylas.  "  What  are  hylas,  pray  ? " 
Do  you  ask  me,  little  children  sweet? 

They  are  tree-toads,  brown  and  green  and  gray, 
Small  and  slender,  dusky,  light,  and  fleet. 

All  the  winter  long  they  hide  and  sleep 
In  the  dark  earth's  bosom,  safe  and  fast; 

When  the  sunshine  finds  them,  up  they  leap, 
Glad  to  feel  that  spring  is  come  at  last. 

Glad  and  grateful,  up  the  trees  they  climb, 
Pour  their  cheerful  music  on  the  air, 

Crying,  "Here  's  an  end  of  snow  and  rime! 
Beauty  is  beginning  everywhere !  " 

Listen,  children,  for  so  sweet  a  cry! 

Listen  till  you  hear  the  hylas  sing, 
Ere  the  first  star  glitters  in  the  sky, 

In  the  crimson  sunsets  of  the  spring. 


THE   SPARROWS  199 

THE   SPARROWS 
[DIE  SPUBVER] 

IN  the  far-off  land  of  Norway, 

Where  the  winter  lingers  late, 
And  long  for  the  singing-birds  and  flowers 

The  little  children  wait; 

When  at  last  the  summer  ripens 

And  the  harvest  is  gathered  in, 
And  food  for  the  bleak,  drear  days  to  come 

The  toiling  people  win; 

Through  all  the  land  the  children 

In  the  golden  fields  remain 
Till  their  busy  little  hands  have  gleaned 

A  generous  sheaf  of  grain; 

All  the  stalks  by  the  reapers  forgotten 

They  glean  to  the  very  least, 
To  save  till  the  cold  December, 

For  the  sparrows'  Christmas  feast. 

And  then  through  the  frost-locked  country 

There  happens  a  wonderful  thing: 
The  sparrows  flock  north,  south,  east,  west, 

For  the  children's  offering. 


200  THE   SPARROWS 

Of  a  sudden,  the  day  before  Christmas, 

The  twittering  crowds  arrive, 
And  the  bitter,  wintry  air  at  once 

With  their  chirping  is  all  alive. 

They  perch  upon  roof  and  gable, 

On  porch  and  fence  and  tree, 
They  flutter  about  the  windows 

And  peer  in  curiously. 

And  meet  the  eyes  of  the  children, 

Who  eagerly  look  out 
With  cheeks  that  bloom  like  roses  red, 

And  greet  them  with  welcoming  shout. 

On  the  joyous  Christmas  morning, 

In  front  of  every  door 
A  tall  pole,  crowned  with  clustering  grain, 

Is  set  the  birds  before. 

And  which  are  the  happiest,  truly 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell; 
The  sparrows  Avho  share  in  the  Christmas  cheer, 

Or  the  children  who  love  them  well! 

How  sweet  that  they  should  remember, 

With  faith  so  full  and  sure, 
That  the  children's  bounty  awaited  them 

The  whole  wide  country  o'er ! 


THE   NIGHTINGALE  201 

When  this  pretty  story  was  told  me 
By  one  who  had  helped  to  rear 

The  rustling  grain  for  the  merry  birds 
In  Norway,  many  a  year, 

I  thought  that  our  little  children 

Would  like  to  know  it  too, 
It  seems  to  me  so  beautiful, 

So  blessed  a  thing  to  do, 

To  make  God's  innocent  creatures  see 

In  every  child  a  friend, 
And  on  our  faithful  kindness 

So  fearlessly  depend. 


THE   NIGHTINGALE 

THERE  is  a  bird,  a  plain,  brown  bird, 

That  dwells  in  lands  afar, 
Whose  wild,  delicious  song  is  heard 

With  evening's  first  white  star. 

When,  dewy-fresh  and  still,  the  night 

Steals  to  the  waiting  world, 
And  the  new  moon  glitters  silver  bright, 

And  the  fluttering  winds  are  furled; 

When  the  balm  of  summer  is  in  the  air, 
And  the  deep  rose  breathes  of  musk, 


202  THE   NIGHTINGALE 

And  there  comes  a  waft  of  blossoms  fair 
Through  the  enchanted  dusk; 

Then  breaks  the  silence  a  heavenly  strain, 

And  thrills  the  quiet  night 
With  a  rich  and  wonderful  refrain, 

A  rapture  of  delight. 

All  listeners  that  rare  music  hail, 

All  whisper  softly:   "Hark! 
It  is  the  matchless  nightingale 

Sweet  singing  in  the  dark." 

He  has  no  pride  of  feathers  fine; 

Unconscious,  too,  is  he, 
That  welcomed  as  a  thing  divine 

Is  his  clear  minstrelsy. 

But  from  the  fullness  of  his  heart 

His  happy  carol  pours; 
Beyond  all  praise,  above  all  art, 

His  song  to  heaven  soars. 

And  through  the  whole  wide  world  his  fame 

Is  sounded  far  and  near; 
Men  love  to  speak  his  very  name 

That  brown  bird  is  so  dear. 


GOLD  LOCKS  AND  SILVER  LOCKS      203 


GOLD   LOCKS   AND   SILVER  LOCKS 

PUPIL  and  master  together, 
The  wise  man  and  the  child, 
Merrily  talking  and  laughing 
Under  the  lamplight  mild. 

Pupil  and  master  together, 

A  fair  sight  to  behold, 

With  his  thronging  locks  of  silver 

And  her  tresses  of  ruddy  gold. 

"Well,  little  girl,  did  you  practice 
On  the  violin  to-day  ? 
What  is  the  air  I  gave  you  ? 
Have  you  forgotten,  pray  ? " 

And  he  sings  a  few  notes  and  pauses, 
Half  frowning  to  see  her  stand 
Perplexed,  with  her  white  brows  knitted, 
And  her  chin  upon  her  hand. 

Far  off  in  the  street  of  a  sudden 
Comes  the  sound  of  a  wandering  band, 
And  the  blare  of  brass  rings  faintly, 
Too  distant  to  understand. 


204      GOLD  LOCKS  AND  SILVER  LOCKS 

"Hark!"  says  the  master,  smiling, 

Bending  his  head  to  hear, 
"  In  what  key  are  they  playing  ? 

Can  you  tell  me  that,  my  dear? 

" Is  it  D  minor?     Try  it! 
To  the  piano  and  try !  " 
She  strikes  it,  the  sweet  sound  answers 
Her  touch  so  light  and  shy. 

And  swift  as  steel  to  magnet, 
The  far  tones  and  the  near 
Unite  and  are  blended  together 
Smoothly  upon  the  ear. 

I  thought,  if  one  had  the  power, 
What  a  beautiful  thing  'twould  be, 
Hearing  Life's  manifold  music, 
To  strike  in  one's  self  the  key; 

Whether  joyful  or  sorry,  to  answer, 
As  wind-harps  answer  the  air, 
And  solve  by  simple  submission 
Its  riddles  of  trouble  and  care. 

But  the  little  maid  knew  nothing 
Of  thoughts  so  grave  and  wise, 
As  she  stole  again  to  her  teacher, 
And  lifted  her  merry  eyes. 


THE   KITTIWAKES  205 

And  neither  dreamed  what  a  picture 
They  made,  the  young  and  the  old,  — 
With  his  thronging  locks  of  silver, 
And  her  tresses  of  ruddy  gold. 


THE  KITTIWAKES 

LIKE  white  feathers  blown  about  the  rocks, 
Like  soft  snowflakes  wavering  in  the  air, 

Wheel  the  Kittiwakes  in  scattered  flocks, 
Crying,  floating,  fluttering  everywhere. 

Shapes  of  snow  and  cloud,  they  soar  and  whirl: 
Downy  breasts  that  shine  like  lilies  white; 

Delicate  vaporous  tints  of  gray  and  pearl 
Laid  upon  their  arching  wings  so  light. 

Eyes  of  jet,  and  beaks  and  feet  of  gold,  — 
Lovelier  creatures  never  sailed  in  air; 

Innocent,  inquisitive,  and  bold, 

Knowing  not  the  dangers  that  they  dare. 

Stooping  now  above  a  beckoning  hand, 

Following  gleams  of  waving  kerchiefs  white, 

What  should  they  of  evil  understand, 

Though  the  gun  awaits  them  full  in  sight? 


206  LOST 

Though  their  blood  the  quiet  wave  makes  red, 
Though  their  broken  plumes  float  far  and  wide, 

Still  they  linger,  hovering  overhead, 
Still  the  gun  deals  death  on  every  side. 

Oh,  begone,  sweet  birds,  or  higher  soar! 

See  you  not  your  comrades  low  are  laid  ? 
But  they  only  flit  and  call  the  more,  — 

Ignorant,  unconscious,  undismayed. 

Nay,  then,  boatman,  spare  them!     Must  they  bear 
Pangs  like  these  for  human  vanity  1 

That  their  lovely  plumage  we  may  wear 
Must  these  fair,  pathetic  creatures  die  ? 

Let  the  tawny  squaws  themselves  admire, 
Decked  with  feathers,  —  we  can  wiser  be. 

I  beseech  you,  boatman,  do  not  fire ! 

Stain  no  more  with  blood  the  tranquil  sea. 


LOST 

"  Lock  the  dairy  door  !  "  Oh,  hark,  the  cock  is  crow- 
ing proudly ! 

"  Lock  the  dairy  door  !  "  and  all  the  hens  are  cackling 
loudly : 


LOST  207 

"  Chickle,  chackle,  chee,"  they  cry;  "we  have  n't  got 

the  key,"  they  cry; 
"  Chickle,   chackle,   chee  f      Oh   dear,   wherever  can 

it  be  f  "  they  cry. 

Up  and  down  the  garden  walks  where  all  the  flowers 

are  blowing, 
Out  about  the  golden  fields  where   tall  the  wheat  is 

growing, 
Through  the  barn  and  up  the  road  they  cackle  and 

they  chatter: 
Cry  the  children,  "Hear  the  hens!     Why,  what  can 

be  the  matter?" 

What  scraping  and  what  scratching,  what  bristling  and 

what  hustling; 
The  cock  stands  on  the  fence,   the  wind  his  ruddy 

plumage  rustling; 
Like  a  soldier  grand  he  stands,   and  like  a  trumpet 

glorious 
Sounds  his  shout  both  far  and  near,   imperious  and 

victorious. 

But  to  Partlets  down  below,  who  cannot  find  the  key, 

they  hear, 
" Lock  the  dairy  door!"     That's  all  his  challenge 

says  to  them,  my  dear. 


208  THE   KINGFISHER 

Why  they  had  it,  how  they  lost  it,  must  remain  a 
mystery ; 

I  that  tell  you  never  heard  the  first  part  of  the  his- 
tory. 

But  if  you  will  listen,  dear,  next  time  the  cock  crows 

proudly, 
"Lock  the  dairy  door!"  you'll  hear  him  tell  the 

biddies  loudly: 
"Chickle,  chackle,   chee,"  they  cry;     "we  haven't 

got  the  key  !  "  they  cry ; 
"  Chickle,  chackle,  chee  !     Oh  dear,  wherever  can  it 

be  !  "  they  cry. 

THE   KINGFISHER 

COULD  you  have  heard  the  kingfisher  scream  and  scold 

at  me 
When  I  went  this  morning  early  down  to  the  smiling 

sea! 
He  clamored  so  loud  and  harshly,  I  laughed  at  him  for 

his  pains, 
And  off  he  flew  with  a  shattered  note,  like  the  sound 

of  falling  chains. 

He  perched  on  the  rock  above  me,  and  kept  up  such 
a  din, 


THE   KINGFISHER  209 

He  looked  so  fine  with  his  collar  snow-white  beneath 

his  chin, 
And  his  cap  of  velvet,  black  and  bright,  and  his  jacket 

of  lovely  blue, 
I  looked,  admired,  and  called  to  him,  "  Good-morning ! 

How  do  you  do?  " 

But  his  kingship  was  so  offended!  He  hadn't  a 
pleasant  word, 

Only  the  Grossest  jargon  ever  screamed  by  a  bird. 

The  gray  sandpiper  on  one  leg  stood  still  in  sheer  sur- 
prise, 

And  gazed  at  me,  and  gazed  at  him,  with  shining  bead- 
black  eyes, 

And  pensively  sent  up  so  sweet  and  delicate  a  note, 
Ringing  so  high  and  clear  from  out  her  dainty,  mottled 

throat, 
That  echo  round  the  silent  shore  caught  up  the  clear 

refrain, 
And  sent  the  charming  music  back  again,    and  yet 

again. 

Then  the  brown  song  sparrow  on  the  wall  made  haste 

with  such  a  song, 
To  try  and  drown  that  jarring  din!  but  it  was  all  too 

strong. 


210  THE   WOUNDED   CURLEW 

And  the  swallows,  like  a  steel-blue  flash,  swept  past 

and  cried  aloud, 
"  Be  civil,  my  dear  kingfisher,   you  're  far  too  grand 

and  proud." 

But  it  was  n't  of  any  use  at  all,  he  was  too  much  dis- 
pleased, 

For  only  by  my  absence  could  his  anger  be  appeased. 

So  I  wandered  off,  and  as  I  went  I  saw  him  flutter 
down, 

And  take  his  place  once  more  upon  the  seaweed  wet 
and  brown. 

And  there  he  watched  for  his  breakfast,  all  undis- 
turbed at  last, 

And  many  a  little  fish  he  caught  as  it  was  swimming 
past. 

And  I  forgot  his  harsh  abuse,  for,  up  in  the  tall  elm- 
tree, 

A  purple  finch  sat  high  and  sang  a  heavenly  song  for 
me. 


THE   WOUNDED   CURLEW 

BY  yonder  sandy  cove  where,  every  day, 

The  tide  flows  in  and  out, 
A  lonely  bird  in  sober  brown  and  gray 

Limps  patiently  about; 


THE   WOUNDED   CURLEW  211 

And  round  the  basin's  edge,  o'er  stones  and  sand, 

And  many  a  fringing  weed, 
He  steals,  or  on  the  rocky  ledge  doth  stand, 

Crying,  with  none  to  heed. 

But  sometimes  from  the  distance  he  can  hear 

His  comrades'  swift  reply; 
Sometimes  the  air  rings  with  their  music  clear, 

Sounding  from  sea  and  sky. 

And  then,  oh,  then  his  tender  voice,  so  sweet, 

Is  shaken  with  his  pain, 
For  broken  are  his  pinions  strong  and  fleet, 

Never  to  soar  again. 

Wounded  and  lame  and  languishing  he  lives, 

Once  glad  and  blithe  and  free, 
And  in  his  prison  limits  frets  and  strives 

His  ancient  self  to  be. 

The  little  sandpipers  about  him  play, 

The  shining  waves  they  skim, 
Or  round  his  feet  they  seek  their  food,  and  stay 

As  if  to  comfort  him. 

My  pity  cannot  help  him,  though  his  plaint 

Brings  tears  of  wistfulness; 
Still  must  he  grieve  and  mourn,  forlorn  and  faint, 

None  may  his  wrong  redress. 


212  LITTLE   ASSUNTA 

0  bright-eyed  boy !  was  there  no  better  way 

A  moment's  joy  to  gain 
Than  to  make  sorrow  that  must  mar  the  day 

With  such  despairing  pain? 

0  children,  drop  the  gun,  the  cruel  stone ! 

Oh,  listen  to  my  words, 
And  hear  with  me  the  wounded  curlew  moan 

Have  mercy  on  the  birds ! 


LITTLE   ASSUNTA 

CLIMBING  the  Pincian  Hill's  long  slope, 

When  the  west  was  bright  with  a  crimson  flame, 

Her  small  face  glowing  with  life  and  hope, 
Little  Assunta  singing  came. 

From  under  ilex  and  olive-tree, 

I  gazed  afar  to  St.  Peter's  dome; 
Below,  for  a  wondering  world  to  see, 

Lay  the  ruined  glories  of  ancient  Rome. 

Sunset  was  sorrowing  over  the  land, 

O'er  the  splendid  fountains  that  leaped  in  the  air, 
O'er  crumbling  tower  and  temple  grand, 

Palace,  and  column,  and  statue  fair. 


LITTLE   ASSUNTA  213 

Little  Assunta  climbed  the  steep; 

She  was  a  lovely  sight  to  see ! 
A  tint  in  her  olive  cheek  as  deep 

As  the  wild  red  Roman  anemone. 

Dark  as  midnight  her  braided  hair 
Over  her  fathomless  eyes  of  brown; 

And  over  her  tresses  the  graceful  square 
Of  snow-white  linen  was  folded  down. 

Her  quaint  black  bodice  was  laced  behind; 

Her  apron  was  barred  with  dull  rich  hues; 
Like  the  ripe  pomegranate's  tawny  rind 

Her  little  gown;  and  she  wore  no  shoes. 

But  round  her  dusk  throat's  slender  grace, 
Large,  smooth,  coral  beads  were  wound; 

Like  a  flower  herself  in  that  solemn  place 

She  seemed,  just  blooming  out  of  the  ground. 

Up  she  came,  as  she  walked  on  air! 

I  wandered  downward  with  footsteps  slow, 
Till  we  met  in  the  midst  of  the  pathway  fair, 

Bathed  in  the  mournful  sunset's  glow. 

"Buon  giorno,  Signora!"  l  she  said; 

Like  a  wild-bird's  note  was  her  greeting  clear. 
1  Good-morning,  lady. 


214  INHOSPITALITY 

"Salve!"1  I  answered,  "my  little  maid; 

But  'tis  evening,  and  not  good-morning,  dear!" 

She  stretched  her  hands  with  a  smile  like  light, 

As  if  she  offered  me,  joyfully, 
Some  precious  gift,  with  that  aspect  bright, 

And  "  Buon  giorno !  "  again  sang  she. 

And  so  she  passed  me  and  upward  pressed 

Under  ilex  and  olive-tree, 
While  the  flush  of  sunset  died  in  the  west, 

And  the  shadows  of  twilight  folded  me. 

She  carried  the  morn  in  her  shining  eyes! 

Evening  was  mine,  and  the  night  to  be ; 
But  she  stirred  my  heart  with  the  dawn's  surprise, 

And  left  me  a  beautiful  memory ! 


INHOSPITALITY 

DOWN  on  the  north  wind  sweeping 
Comes  the  storm  with  roaring  din; 

Sadly,  with  dreary  tumult, 
The  twilight  gathers  in. 

1  A  term  of  salutation,  pronounced  "  Salv£,"  and  meaning  "  Hail! ' 
or  "Welcome!" 


INHOSPITALITY  215 

The  snow-covered  little  island 

Is  white  as  a  frosted  cake; 
And  round  and  round  it  the  billows 

Bellow,  and  thunder,  and  break. 

Within  doors  the  blazing  driftwood 

Is  glowing,  ruddy  and  warm, 
And  happiness  sits  at  the  fireside, 

Watching  the  raging  storm. 

What  fluttered  past  the  window, 

All  weary  and  wet  and  weak, 
With  the  heavily  drooping  pinions, 

And  the  wicked,  crooked  beak? 

Cries  the  little  sister,  watching, 

"  Whither  now  can  he  flee  ? 
Black  through  the  whirling  snowflakes 

Glooms  the  awful  face  of  the  sea; 

"And  tossed  and  torn  by  the  tempest, 

He  must  sink  in  the  bitter  brine ! 

Why  could  n't  we  pity  and  save  him 

Till  the  sun  again  should  shine  ? " 

They  drew  her  back  to  the  fireside, 

And  laughed  at  her  cloudy  eyes,  — 
"  What,  mourn  for  that  robber- fellow, 
The  cruelest  bird  that  flies ! 


216  INHOSPITALITY 

"  Your  song  sparrow  hardly  would  thank  you, 

And  which  is  the  dearest,  pray  ?  " 
But  she  heard  at  the  doors  and  windows 
The  lashing  of  the  spray; 

And  as  ever  the  shock  of  the  breakers 

The  heart  of  their  quiet  stirred, 
She  thought,  "  Oh,  would  we  had  sheltered  him, 

The  poor,  unhappy  bird !  " 

Where  the  boats  before  the  house-door 

Are  drawn  up  from  the  tide, 
On  the  tallest  prow  he  settles, 

And  furls  his  wings  so  wide. 

Uprises  the  elder  brother, 
Uprises  the  sister  too; 
"Nay,  brother,  he  conies  for  shelter! 
Spare  him !     What  would  you  do  ? " 

He  laughs  and  is  gone  for  his  rifle. 

And  steadily  takes  his  aim ; 
But  the  wild  wind  seizes  his  yellow  beard, 

And  blows  it  about  like  flame. 

Into  his  eyes  the  snow  sifts, 

Till  he  cannot  see  aright: 
Ah,  the  cruel  gun  is  baffled! 

And  the  weary  hawk  takes  flight; 


UNDER   THE   LIGHT-HOUSE  217 

And  slowly  up  he  circles, 

Higher  and  higher  still; 
The  fierce  wind  catches  and  bears  him  away 

O'er  the  bleak  crest  of  the  hill. 

UNDER   THE   LIGHT-HOUSE 

BENEATH  the  tall,  white  light-house  strayed  the  chil- 
dren, 

In  the  May  morning  sweet; 
About  the  steep  and  rough  gray  rocks  they  wandered 

With  hesitating  feet; 
For  scattered  far  and  wide  the  birds  were  lying, 

Quiet,  and  cold,  and  dead, 
That  met,  while  they  were  swiftly  winging  northward, 

The  fierce  light  overhead; 
And  as  the  frail  moths  in  the  summer  evenings 

Fly  to  the  candle's  blaze, 
Rushed  wildly  at  the  splendor,  finding  only 

Death  in  those  blinding  rays. 
And  here  were  bobolink,  and  wren,  and  sparrow, 

Veery,  and  oriole, 
And  purple  finch,  and  rosy  grosbeak,  swallows, 

And  kingbirds  quaint  and  droll; 
Gay  soldier  blackbirds,  wearing  on  their  shoulders 

Red,  gold-edged  epaulets, 
And  many  a  homely  brown,  red-breasted  robin, 

Whose  voice  no  child  forgets. 


218  UNDER   THE   LIGHT-HOUSE 

And  yellow-birds  —  what  shapes  of  perfect  beauty ! 

What  silence  after  song! 
And  mingled  with  them,  unfamiliar  warblers 

That  to  far  woods  belong. 
Clothing  the  gray  rocks  with  a  mournful  beauty 

By  scores  the  dead  forms  lay, 
That,  dashed  against  the  tall  tower's  cruel  windows, 

Dropped  like  the  spent  sea  spray. 
How  many  an  old  and  sun-steeped  barn,  far  inland, 

Should  miss  about  its  eaves 
The  twitter  and  the  gleam  of  these  swift  swallows! 

And,  swinging  'mid  the  leaves, 
The  oriole's  nest,  all  empty  in  the  elm-tree, 

Would  cold  and  silent  be, 
And  nevermore  these  robins  make  the  meadows 

King  with  their  ecstasy. 
Would  not  the  gay  swamp-border  miss  the  blackbirds, 

Whistling  so  loud  and  clear? 
Would  not  the  bobolinks'  delicious  music 

Lose  something  of  its  cheer? 
"Yet,"  thought  the  wistful  children,  gazing  landward, 

"The  birds  will  not  be  missed; 
Others  will  take  their  place  in  field  and  forest, 

Others  will  keep  their  tryst : 
And  we,  we  only,  know  how  death  has  met  them; 

We  wonder  and  we  mourn 
That  from  their  innocent  and  bright  existence 

Thus  roughly  they  are  torn." 


UNDER   THE   LIGHT- HOUSE  219 

And  so  they  laid  the  sweet,  dead  shapes  together, 

Smoothing  each  ruffled  wing, 
Perplexed  and  sorrowful,  and  pondering  deeply 

The  meaning  of  this  thing. 
(Too  hard  to  fathom  for  the  wisest  nature 

Crowned  with  the  snows  of  age !) 
And  all  the  beauty  of  the  fair  May  morning 

Seemed  like  a  blotted  page. 
They  bore  them  down  from  the  rough  cliffs  of  granite 

To  where  the  grass  grew  green, 
And  laid  them  'neath  the  soft  turf,  all  together, 

With  many  a  flower  between; 
And,  looking  up  with  wet  eyes,  saw  how  brightly 

Upon  the  summer  sea 
Lay  the  clear  sunlight,  how  white  sails  were  shining, 

And  small  waves  laughed  in  glee: 
And  somehow,  comfort  grew  to  check  their  grieving, 

A  sense  of  brooding  care, 
As  if,  in  spite  of  death,  a  loving  presence 

Filled  all  the  viewless  air. 
"What  should  we  fear? "  whispered  the  little  children, 

"There  is  no  thing  so  small 
But  God  will  care  for  it  in  earth  or  heaven: 

He  sees  the  sparrows  fall !  " 


220  PICCOLA 


PICCOLA 

POOR,  sweet  Piccola!     Did  you  hear 
What  happened  to  Piccola,  children  dear? 
'T  is  seldom  Fortune  such  favor  grants 
As  fell  to  this  little  maid  of  France.         ^ 

'T  was  Christmas-time,  and  her  parents  poor 
Could  hardly  drive  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
Striving  with  poverty's  patient  pain 
Only  to  live  till  summer  again. 

No  gifts  for  Piccola !     Sad  were  they 
When  dawned  the  morning  of  Christmas-day 
Their  little  darling  no  joy  might  stir, 
St.  Nicholas  nothing  would  bring  to  her! 

But  Piccola  never  doubted  at  all 
That  something  beautiful  must  befall 
Every  child  upon  Christmas-day, 
And  so  she  slept  till  the  dawn  was  gray. 

And  full  of  faith,  when  at  last  she  woke, 
She  stole  to  her  shoe  as  the  morning  broke; 
Such  sounds  of  gladness  filled  all  the  air, 
'T  was  plain  St.  Nicholas  had  been  there ! 


MOZART   AT   THE   FIRESIDE  221 

In  rushed  Piccola  sweet,  half  wild: 
Never  was  seen  such  a  joyful  child. 
"See  what  the  good  saint  brought!  "  she  cried, 
And  mother  and  father  must  peep  inside. 

Now  such  a  story  who  ever  heard  ? 
There  was  a  little  shivering  bird! 
A  sparrow,  that  in  at  the  window  flew, 
Had  crept  into  Piccola 's  tiny  shoe ! 

"  How  good  poor  Piccola  must  have  been !  " 
She  cried,  as  happy  as  any  queen, 
While  the  starving  sparrow  she  fed  and  warmed, 
And  danced  with  rapture,  she  was  so  charmed. 

Children,  this  story  I  tell  to  you, 
Of  Piccola  sweet  and  her  bird,  is  true. 
In  the  far-off  land  of  France,  they  say, 
Still  do  they  live  to  this  very  day. 


MOZAET   AT   THE   FIBESIDE 

AUTUMN  nights  grow  chilly : 

See  how  faces  bloom 
By  the  cheerful  firelight, 

In  the  quiet  room! 


MOZART   AT   THE   FIRESIDE 

Mother's  amber  necklace, 

Father's  beard  of  gold, 
Rosy  cheeks  of  little  boys 

All  glowing  from  the  cold, 

Basket  heaped  with  barberries, 

Coral  red  and  bright, 
Little  Silver's  shaggy  fur 

All  shining  in  the  light! 

Barberries  bright  they  're  picking, 
And  smile  and  do  not  speak; 

Happy  little  youngest  boy 
Kisses  mother's  cheek,  — 

First  mother's  and  then  father's, 
And  nestles  his  pretty  head 

In  the  shining  fur  of  Silver, 

While  they  pick  the  barberries  red. 

At  the  piano  sitting, 

One  touches  the  beautiful  keys; 
Silent  they  sit  and  listen 

To  magical  melodies. 

Heavenly,  tender,  and  hopeful, 
Balm  for  the  saddest  heart, 

Rises  the  lovely  music 
Of  the  divine  Mozart! 


MOZART  AT   THE   FIRESIDE  223 

The  children  hear  the  birds  sing, 

And  the  voices  of  the  May; 
They  feel  the  freshness  of  morning, 

Before  the  toil  of  the  day; 

But  father  and  mother  listen 

To  a  deeper  undertone, 
A  strong  arm,  full  of  comfort,  seems 

About  life's  trouble  thrown. 

0  children,  when  your  summer 

Passes,  and  winter  is  near, 
When  the  sky  is  dim  that  was  so  bright, 

And  the  way  seems  long  and  drear, 

Remember  the  mighty  master 

Still  touches  the  human  heart, 
Speaking  afar  from  heaven, 

The  wonderful  Mozart! 

He  can  bring  back  your  childhood 

With  his  strains  of  airy  grace, 
Till  life  seems  fresh  and  beautiful 

Again  for  a  little  space. 

With  voices  of  lofty  sweetness 

He  shall  encourage  you, 
Till  all  good  things  seem  possible, 

And  Heaven's  best  promise  true : 


224  THE   FLOCK   OF  DOVES 

Till  health  and  strength  and  loveliness 
Blossom  from  stone  and  clod, 

And  the  sad  old  world  grows  bright  again 
With  the  cheerfulness  of  God. 


THE  FLOCK   OF   DOVES 

THE  world  was  like  a  wilderness 

Of  soft  and  downy  snow ; 
The  trees  were  plumed  with  feathery  flakes, 

And  the  ground  was  white  below. 

Came  the  little  mother  out  to  the  gate 
To  watch  for  her  children  three; 

Her  hood  was  red  as  a  poppy-flower, 
And  rosy  and  young  was  she. 

She  took  the  snow  in  her  cunning  hands, 

As  waiting  she  stood  alone, 
And  lo!  in  a  moment,  beneath  her  touch, 

A  fair  white  dove  had  grown. 

A  flock  she  wrought,  and  on  the  fence 

Set  them  in  bright  array, 
With  folded  wings,  or  pinions  spread, 

Ready  to  fly  away. 


THE   KAISERBLUMEN  225 

And  then  she  hid  by  the  pine-tree  tall, 
For  the  children's  tones  rang  sweet, 

As  home  from  school,  through  the  drifts  so  light, 
They  sped  with  merry  feet. 

"  0  Nannie,  Nannie !     See  the  fence 

Alive  with  doves  so  white !  " 
"Oh,  hush!  don't  frighten  them  away!" 

They  whisper  with  delight. 

They  crept  so  soft,  they  crept  so  still, 

The  wondrous  sight  to  see, 
The  little  mother  pushed  the  gate, 

And  laughed  out  joyfully. 

She  clasped  them  close,  she  kissed  their  cheeks, 

And  lips  so  sweet  and  red. 
"  The  birds  are  only  made  of  snow ! 
You  are  my  doves,"  she  said. 


THE   KAISERBLUMEN 

HAVE  you  heard  of  the  Kaiserblume, 

0  little  children  sweet, 
That  grows  in  the  fields  of  Germany, 

Light  waving  among  the  wheat? 


226  THE   KAISERBLUMEN 

'Tis  only  a  simple  flower, 
But  were  I  to  try  all  day, 

Its  grace  and  charm  and  beauty 
I  could  n't  begin  to  say. 

By  field  and  wood  and  roadside, 
Delicate,  hardy,  and  bold, 

It  scatters  in  wild  profusion 
Its  blossoms  manifold. 

The  children  love  it  dearly, 
And  with  dancing  feet  they  go 

To  seek  it  with  song  and  laughter; 
And  all  the  people  know 

Stern  Kaiser  Wilhelm  loves  it: 
He  said,  "It  shall  honored  be, 

Henceforth  't  is  the  Kaiserblume, 
The  flower  of  Germany. " 

Then  he  bade  his  soldiers  wear  it, 

Tied  in  a  gay  cockade, 
And  the  quaint  and  humble  blossom 

His  royal  token  made. 

Said  little  Hans  to  Gretchen, 
One  summer  morning  fair, 

As  they  played  in  the  fields  together, 
And  sang  in  the  fragrant  air: 


THE   KAISERBLUMEN  227 

"Oh,  look  at  the  Kaiserblumen 

That  grow  in  the  grass  so  thick! 

Let  'a  gather  our  arms  full,  Gretchen, 

And  take  to  the  Emperor,  quick! 

"For  never  were  any  so  beautiful, 
Waving  so  blue  and  bright." 
So  all  they  could  carry  they  gathered, 
Dancing  with  their  delight. 

Then  under  the  blazing  sunshine 

They  trudged  o'er  the  long,  white  road 

That  led  to  the  Kaiser's  palace, 
With  their  gayly  nodding  load. 

But  long  ere  the  streets  of  the  city 

They  trod  with  their  little  feet, 
As  hot  they  grew  and  as  tired 

As  their  corn-flowers  bright  and  sweet. 

And  Gretchen 's  cheeks  were  rosy 

With  a  weary  travel  stain. 
And  her  tangled  hair  o'er  her  blue,  blue  eyes 

Fell  down  in  a  golden  rain. 

And  at  last  all  the  nodding  blossoms 
Their  shining  heads  hung  down; 

But,  "Cheer  up,  Gretchen!"  cried  little  Hans, 
"We  've  almost  reached  the  town. 


228  THE   KAISERBLUMEN 

"We  '11  knock  at  the  door  of  the  palace, 

And  won't  he  be  glad  to  see 
The  flowers  we  've  brought  so  far  for  him? 
Think,  Gretehen,  how  pleased  he  '11  be !  " 

So  they  plodded  patiently  onward, 
And  with  hands  so  soft  and  small 

They  knocked  at  the  palace  portal, 
And  sweetly  did  cry  and  call: 

"Please  open  the  door,  0  Kaiser! 

We  've  brought  some  flowers  for  you, 
Our  arms  full  of  Kaiserblumen, 
All  gay  and  bright  and  blue !  " 

But  nobody  heeded  or  answered, 

Till  at  last  a  soldier  grand 
Bade  the  weary  wanderers  leave  the  gate, 

With  a  gruff  and  stern  command. 

But,  "No!"  cried  the  children,  weeping; 

Though  trembling  and  sore  afraid, 
And  clasping  their  faded  flowers, 

"  We  must  come  in !  "  they  said. 

A  lofty  and  splendid  presence 
The  echoing  stair  came  down; 

To  know  the  king  there  was  no  need 
That  he  should  wear  a  crown. 


THE    KAISERBLUMEN 

And  the  children  cried:  "0  Kaiser, 
We  have  brought  your  flowers  so  far! 

And  we  are  so  tired  and  hungry ! 
See,  Emperor,  here  they  are ! " 

They  held  up  their  withered  posies, 
While  into  the  Emperor's  face 

A  beautiful  light  came  stealing, 

And  he  stooped  with  a  stately  grace; 

Taking  the  ruined  blossoms, 
With  gentle  words  and  mild 

He  comforted  with  kindness 

The  heart  of  each  trembling  child. 

And  that  was  a  wonderful  glory 

That  the  little  ones  befell! 
And  when  their  heads  are  hoary, 

They  still  will  the  story  tell, 

How  they  sat  at  the  Kaiser's  table, 
And  dined  with  princes  and  kings, 

In  that  far-off  day  of  splendor, 
Filled  full  of  marvelous  things ! 

And  home,  when  the  sun  was  setting, 

The  happy  twain  were  sent, 
In  a  gleaming  golden  carriage, 

With  horses  magnificent. 


230         THE  GBEAT  BLUE  HERON 

And  like  the  wildest  vision 
Of  fairy-land  it  seemed; 

Hardly  could  Hans  and  Gretchen 
Believe  they  had  not  dreamed. 

And  even  their  children's  children 

Eager  to  hear  will  be, 
How  they  carried  to  Kaiser  Wilhelm 

The  flowers  of  Germany. 


THE   GREAT   BLUE   HERON 

A    WARNING 

THE  great  blue  heron  stood  all  alone 

By  the  edge  of  the  solemn  sea 
On  a  broken  boulder  of  gray  trap  stone; 

He  was  lost  in  a  reverie. 

And  when  I  climbed  the  low  rough  wall 
At  the  top  of  the  sloping  beach, 

To  gather  the  driftwood  great  and  small, 
Left  scattered  to  dry  and  bleach, 

I  saw  as  if  carved  from  the  broken  block 
On  which  he  was  standing,  the  bird 

Like  a  part  of  the  boulder  of  blue-gray  rock, 
For  never  a  feather  he  stirred. 


THE  GREAT  BLUE  HERON         231 

I  paused  to  watch  him.     Below  my  breath 

"0  beautiful  creature,"  I  cried, 

"Do  you  know  you  are  standing  here  close  to  your 
death, 

By  the  brink  of  the  quiet  tide! 

"  You  cannot  know  of  the  being  called  Man ! 

The  lord  of  creation  is  he, 
And  he  slays  all  earth's  creatures  wherever  he  can 

In  the  air  or  the  land  or  the  sea. 

"He  's  not  a  hospitable  friend !     If  he  sees 

Some  wonderful,  beautiful  thing 
That  runs  in  the  woodland,  or  floats  in  the  breeze 

On  the  bannerlike  breadth  of  its  wing, 

"  Straight  he  goes  for  his  gun,  its  sweet  life  to  destroy. 

For  mere  pleasure  of  killing  alone 
He  will  ruin  its  beauty  and  quench  all  its  joy 

Though  'tis  useless  to  him  as  a  stone." 

Then  I  cried  aloud,    "Fly!  before  over  the  sand 

This  lord  of  creation  arrives 
With  his  shot  and  his  powder  and  gun  in  his  hand, 

For  the  spoiling  of  innocent  lives !  " 

Oh,  stately  and  graceful  and  slender  and  tall 
The  Heron  stood  silent  and  still, 


232  THE   LOST   BELL 

As  if  careless  of  warning  and  deaf  to  my  call, 
Unconscious  of  danger  or  ill. 

"Fly!  fly  to  some  lonelier  place,  and  fly  fast! 

To  the  very  North  Pole !     Anywhere ! " 
Then  he  rose  and  soared  high,  and  swept  eastward  at 
last, 

Trailing  long  legs  and  wings  in  the  air. 

"Now  perhaps  you  may  live  and  be  happy,"  I  said, 

"  Sail  away,  Beauty,  fast  as  you  can ! 
Put  the  width  of  the  earth  and  the  breadth  of  the  sea 

Betwixt  you  and  the  Being  called  Man." 


THE  LOST   BELL 

A    LEGEND    OF    THE    ISLAND    OF    RUGEN    IN    THE 
BALTIC    SEA 

"On,  where  is  my  bell,"  sighed  the  brownie, 

"My  sweet,  sweet  silver  bell, 
That  tinkled  and  swung  from  my  scarlet  cap; 
Now  who  in  the  world  can  tell  ? " 

On  the  plain  in  the  island  of  Ktigen 

Danced  the  delicate  fairy  folk, 
And  the  tiny  bell  from  the  tiny  cap 

Its  curious  fastening  broke. 


THE   LOST   BELL  233 

The  shepherd  boy  Fritz  next  morning, 

Driving  his  wandering  sheep 
'Mid  the  scattered  stones  of  the  Giants'  graves 

Saw  the  pretty  plaything  peep 

Sparkling  among  the  heather, 

And  fastened  it  to  himself; 
For  how  could  he  know  that  the  bell  belonged 

To  an  underground  little  elf? 

But  the  elf  was  in  such  trouble ! 

Aye,  wandering  up  and  down, 
He  was  searching  here  and  searching  there, 

With  the  tears  on  his  cheek  of  brown. 

For  while  it  was  missing,  no  slumber 

Might  visit  the  fairy's  eyes; 
Still  must  he  sleepless  fill  the  air 

With  mournful  wails  and  cries. 

'  Oh,  who  has  borne  off  my  treasure 
From  the  ground  where  it  did  lie  ? 

Is  it  raven  or  crow  or  jackdaw  ? 
Or  magpie  noisy  and  sly  ?  " 

Then  he  changed  his  shape  to  a  beautiful  bird, 

And  over  the  land  he  flew, 
Over  the  waters  of  Ealov, 

And  the  fields  of  green  Unruh. 


234  THE   LOST   BELL 

He  searched  the  nest  of  all  the  birds, 
He  talked  with  them,  great  and  small, 

But  never  a  trace  of  the  little  bell, 
Could  the  brownie  find  at  alL 

To  the  green,  green  fields  of  Unruh 
Went  Fritz  to  pasture  his  sheep, 

For  the  place  was  sunny  and  fair  and  still 
And  the  grass  grew  thick  and  deep. 

The  bird  flew  over.      The  sheep  bells, 

Soft  tinkling,  sounded  low; 
The  wee  fay  thought  of  his  talisman  lost, 

And  warbled  sad  and  slow. 

The  boy  looked  up  and  listened: 

"Now  what  can  that  queer  bird  be? 

If  he  thinks  their  bells  make  my  cattle  rich, 
Why,  what  would  he  think  of  me  1 » 

Then  he  drew  forth  from  his  pocket 
The  treasure  that  he  had  found, 

And  the  magic  silver  rang  out  clear 
With  a  keen  delicious  sound. 

The  sprite  in  the  bird's  shape  heard  it, 
And  fairly  shook  with  delight, 

Dropped  down  behind  a  bush  near  by, 
Hid  safely  out  of  sight. 


THE   LOST   BELL  235 

Swift  drew  off  his  dress  of  feathers, 

And  took  the  shape  of  a  crone 
Who  hobbled  up  to  the  shepherd  lad, 

And  spoke  in  a  coaxing  tone: 

"Good-even,  good  friend,  good-even! 

What  a  charming  bell  you  ring! 
I  'd  like  such  an  one  for  my  grandson  — 
Will  you  sell  me  the  pretty  thing  ? " 

"No,  no,  for  there  isn't  another 

In  the  whole  wide  world  so  fine; 
My  sheep  will  follow  its  tinkle, 
And  ask  for  no  other  sign. 

"Oh,  listen!     Can  any  sorrow 

Hold  out  against  such  a  tone? 

The  weariest  hour  'twill  ring  away, 

And  conquer  a  heart  of  stone." 

The  old  dame  offered  him  money, 

A  glittering  golden  heap, 
But  Fritz  stood  firm;  "Nay,  nay,"  he  said, 

"My  sweet,  sweet  bell  I  '11  keep." 

Then  a  shepherd  staff  she  showed  him, 

Most  beautiful  to  see, 
Of  snow-white  wood  all  wrought  and  carved ; 

"Take  this,  and  the  bell  give  me. 


236  THE   LOST   BELL 

"  So  long  as  you  guide  your  cattle 

With  this  you  will  surely  thrive, 
And  all  good  fortune  will  follow 
Wherever  your  flocks  you  drive." 

She  reached  him  the  stick.      Her  gesture, 
So  mystic,  bewitched  him  quite, 

So  strange  and  lovely  her  dazzling  smile, 
He  was  blind  in  its  sudden  light. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  and,  "  Take  it, 
The  bell  for  the  staff,"  he  cried. 

Like  a  light  breeze  over  the  fields  and  trees 
The  old  crone  seemed  to  glide. 

She  was  gone  like  the  down  of  a  thistle, 
Or  as  mists  with  the  wind  that  blend, 

And  a  tiny  whir  like  a  whistle  thin 
Set  all  his  hair  on  end. 

The  staff  was  his,  but  the  bell  was  gone, 

Spirited  quite  away; 
Fritz  looked  at  his  prize  with  doubtful  eyes  - 

But  who  so  glad  as  the  fay  ? 

And  he  kept  his  fairy  promise, 
And  Fortune  to  Fritz  was  kind, 

For  all  his  labors  prospered, 

And  all  things  worked  to  his  mind. 


IN   THE   LILAC-BUSH  237 

Before  he  was  eighteen,  mark  you, 

His  flocks  were  his  own  to  keep, 
And  soon  in  the  island  of  Kiigen 

He  was  master  of  all  the  sheep. 

At  last  he  was  able  to  purchase 

A  knight's  estate,  and  became 
A  nobleman  stately  and  gracious, 

With  a  loved  and  honored  name. 

Now  would  n't  you  like,  little  people, 

Such  a  fairy  treasure  to  find? 
Pick  up  from  the  grass  such  a  magic  bell 

And  meet  with  a  brownie  so  kind? 


IN   THE   LILAC-BUSH 

OH,  look,  where  the  lilac-bush,  stout  and  tall, 

Growing  close  to  the  window  low, 
Is  hiding  a  robin's  nest  close  to  the  wall, 

Softly  piled  with  the  light  white  snow ! 

Pray  you,  be  careful,  dear  little  folk  gay. 

Spare  the  snug  house  that  the  pretty  bird  made ; 
Don't  throw  the  storm  of  your  snowballs  this  way, 

And  in  April  your  care  will  be  more  than  repaid. 


238  IN  THE   LILAC-BUSH 

For  back  with  the  spring  your  small  neighbor  will  flit 
Straight  to  his  nest  in  the  lilac-bush  tall, 

Here  'mid  the  buds  on  the  bough  he  will  sit 

And  talk  to  his  mate  with  sweet  twitter  and  call. 

Don't  you  remember  his  glowing  red  breast, 

And  his  olive  brown  coat  and  his  shining  black 
eyes? 

How  he  works  for  his  dinner  and  watches  his  nest, 
A  citizen  sober  and  happy  and  wise ! 

Just  out  of  the  window  you  '11  have  but  to  peep 

Into  the  nest,  such  a  wonder  to  see ! 
The  heaven-blue  eggs,  lying  still  and  asleep, 

So  soon  all  astir  with  the  birdlings  to  be! 

Think  of  the  joy  of  that  beautiful  sight, 

And  the  rapture  of  bliss  'mid  the  lovely  green  leaves 
And  the  rich  purple  flowers,  —  a  world  of  delight 

All  safely  shut  in  'neath  the  sheltering  eaves! 

Be  careful,  children,  and  kind  in  your  play; 

Protect  his  dear  home  for  the  brave  little  bird; 
Don't  charge  with  the  storm  of  your  snowballs  this 

way, 

And  when  April  comes  back  his  sweet  thanks  will 
be  heard. 


A   POPPY   SEED 


A  POPPY   SEED 

'TELL  you  a  story,"  my  beautiful  dear, 

"  Of  nixies,  and  pixies,  and  fairies  with  wings  1 " 
Well,  curl  up  close  in  the  corner  here, 

And  I  '11  show  you  more  astonishing  things! 

I  give  you  this  small  white  packet  to  hold. 

"It  rustles,"  you  say.     Both  the  ends  are  sealed. 
Patience  a  moment,  and  you  shall  be  told 

Of  the  hundreds  of  captives  that  lie  concealed 

In  this  little  paper.      "What,  living  things?  " 
Yes,  full  of  life.      "Won't  I  take  one  out?" 

Yes,  only  be  careful,  —  they  have  no  wings, 

But  your  lightest  breathing  will  blow  them  about. 

There,  one  in  your  warm  pink  palm  I  lay : 
You  hardly  can  see  it !     "  Does  anything  hide 

In  that  wee  atom  of  dust  ? "  you  say. 
Yes,  wonderful  glory  is  folded  inside! 

Kobes,  my  dear,  that  are  fit  for  kings; 

Scarlet  splendor  that  dazzles  the  eyes; 
Buds,  flowers,  leaves,  stalks,  —  so  many  things ! 

You  look  in  my  face  with  doubting  surprise, 


240  A   POPPY   SEED 

And  ask,  "Is  it  really,  truly  true? " 

No  fairy  story  at  all  this  time! 
Don't  you  remember  the  poppy  that  grew 

At  the  foot  of  the  trellis  where  sweet  peas  climb, 

Last  summer,  close  to  the  doorstep,  where 

You  and  I  loved  to  sit  in  the  sun, 
And  see  the  butterflies  float  in  the  air 

When  the  long  bright  day  was  almost  done  1 

Don't  you  remember  what  joy  we  had 

Watching  that  poppy  grow  high  and  higher, 

In  its  lovely  gray-green  garments  clad, 

Till  the  buds  one  evening  showed  streaks  of  tire, 

And  next  day  —  oh !  it  was  all  ablaze ; 

Three  or  four  flowers  at  once  outburst 
In  the  early  sun's  low,  golden  rays  — 

And  you  were  down  at  the  doorstep  first  — 

And  what  magnificence  met  our  sight! 

What  a  heavenly  time  we  had,  we  two, 
Just  adoring  it,  lost  in  delight ! 

For  the  gray-green  leaves  were  spangled  with  dew, 

And  the  flowers,  like  banners  of  silken  flame 
Unfurled,  stood  each  on  its  slender  stem, 

While  the  soft  breeze  over  them  went  and  came, 
Lightly  and  tenderly  rocking  them. 


A  POPPY   SEED  241 

Dearest,  don't  you  remember  it  all? 

How  still  it  was!     Not  a  whisper  of  sound, 
Till  a  bird  sang  out  from  the  garden  wall, 

And  you  slid  from  the  step  and  stood  on  the  ground, 

And  the  poppy  was  higher  than  your  bright  head ! 

Gently  downward  one  flower  you  bent 
To  see  in  the  midst  of  its  burning  red 

The  delicate  greens  in  a  glory  blent. 

Bronze-green  pollen  on  glowing  rays 

From  a  centre  of  palest  emerald  light 
In  a  brilliant  halo  beneath  our  gaze,  — 

You  haven't  forgotten  that  exquisite  sight? 

No,  indeed !     I  was  sure  of  it !     Well, 

All  that  perfection  of  shape  and  hue, 
That  wealth  of  beauty  no  tongue  can  tell, 

Lies  hid  in  this  seed  I  have  given  to  you. 

Just  such  a  speck  in  the  friendly  ground 
I  planted  last  May  by  the  doorstep  wide; 

The  selfsame  marvel  that  then  we  found 
This  atom  of  dust  holds  shut  inside. 

You  can't  believe  it?     But  all  are  there,  — 
Leaves,  roots,  flowers,  stalks,  color,  and  glow; 

Tell  me  a  story  that  can  compare 

With  this  for  a  wonder,  if  any  you  know ! 


BE   LOVELY    WITHIN 


BE   LOVELY   WITHIN 

LITTLE  Evelyn's  cheeks  bloomed  in  delicate  pink, 
And  her  clustering  hair  framed  with  tendril  and  curl 

A  face  so  lovely  you  never  would  think 

She  could  be  for  a  moment  a  cross  little  girl. 

Yet  cross  she  was,  in  a  constant  fret, 

Every  hour  she  spoiled  with  some  trouble  or  strife, 
Till  every  one  said:   "Well,  I  never  have  met 

Such  an  ill-natured  child  in  the  whole  of  my  life ! " 

Her  sister  Peggy  was  plain  and  small, 

Freckled  and  homely,  with  straight  brown  hair; 

But  you  never  thought  of  her  looks  at  all, 

For  she  seemed  to  be  everything  sunny  and  fair. 

"I  can't!  "  and  "I  won't!  "  that  was  Evelyn's  cry 
From  morning  till  night,  against  all  she  was  told; 

While  Peggy's  low  voice  would  be  saying,  "I  '11  try," 
With  a  patience  and  hope  that  were  good  to  behold. 

Till  at  last  Peggy's  freckles  more  beautiful  grew 
In  every  one's  sight  than  all  Evelyn's  charms 

Of  pink  cheeks,  golden  hair,  and  eyes  violet  blue; 
No  one  wished  to  fold  her  in  affectionate  arms! 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST  243 

But  Peggy !  Love  found  her  wherever  she  went, 

Clasped  her  warm  little  hand  and  looked  into  her 
eyes, 

Smiled  on  her  and  blessed  her  with  joy  and  content, 
For  her  spirit  within  was  so  sweet  and  so  wise. 

Never  mind,  children  dear,  about  plainness  of  face, 
But  strive  all  you  can  to  be  lovely  within, 

And  the  beautiful  spirit  will  clothe  you  with  grace, 
And  this  is  a  joy  every  mortal  can  win. 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

OH,  sweetly  the  robin  warbled,  wooing  his  little  mate 
Till  she  twittered  her  joyous  answer,  —  he  had  not 
long  to  wait! 

Oh,  the  air  was  warm  and  spicy,  there  was  sunshine  and 

soft  showers; 
To  and  fro  they  flitted  gayly  through  the  changeful 

April  hours. 

They  chose  a  quiet  pine-tree  and  began  to  weave  their 

nest 
Where  a  forked  branch  gave  support  on  which  their 

cosy  home  to  rest. 


244  THE  UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

And  happy,  happy,  happy,  they  worked  from  morn  till 

night, 
Making  the  fragrant  air  to  ring  with  carols  of  delight. 

With  straws  and  sticks  and  twigs   and  threads  and 

scraps  and  plastering  clay, 
And  bits  of  leaves  and  wool  and  shreds  they  worked 

the  livelong  day. 

We  watched  them  finish  all,  and  thought  to  peep  in 

presently 
The  lovely  turquoise-colored  eggs  like  jewels  fair  to 


They  sought  their  dainty  dwelling  with  the  dawn's 

first  rosy  light; 
Oh,  horror !   What  was  this  strange  thing  that  met  their 

startled  sight! 

Their  pretty  woven  cradle  cup  was  filled  up  to  the 

brim 
With  a  huge  cold  mottled  tree-toad,  blinking  o'er  its 

tidy  rim! 

So  well  content,  so  much  at  home  his  lazy  toadship 


While  o'er  him  fluttered  both  the  birds  and  scolded 
loud  and  screamed, 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST  245 

And  dashed  at  him  with  angry  claw,  and  pecked  with 

sharpened  beak, 
Striving  with  all  their  tiny  might  vengeance  on  him  to 

wreak. 

In  vain,  he  would  not  hudge  an  inch!     He  liked  it 

much  too  well; 
So  lazy,   if    he  breathed    or  no,  you  couldn't  really 

tell. 

The  frantic  little  house-builders  took  counsel  thought- 
fully, 

Once  more  they  swooped  with  ruffled  plumes  upon 
their  enemy. 

And  strove  to  hoist  him  o'er  the  edge,  prying  with 

beak  and  head 
And  strenuous  shoulder,  but  he  lay  heavy  as  lump  of 

lead 

What  could  they  do  1     In  deep  despair  upon  a  bough 

they  sat, 
And  gazed  down  at  their  hated  guest,  so  ugly  and  so 

fat, 

And  in  their  sweet  bird  language  excitedly  they  talked, 
Debating  eagerly  how    best   that  big   toad  could  be 
balked. 


246  THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

At  last  they  settled  it.      They  swept  down  on  the  nest 

again, 
With  wrath  and  fury  in  their  hearts,  and  then  with 

might  and  main, 

Working  below  it  swift  they  tore  their  cunning  ma- 
sonry 
Piecemeal  from  underneath  the  toad  reposing  stupidly ! 

Crumbled    the    clay,    outflow    the    shreds,   the    straws 

were  scattered  wide. 
Larger  and  larger  grew  the  hole  as  fast  their  work  they 

plied. 

Until  at  last  a  slip,  a  crash !     Down  came  that  clammy 

toad 
Thump!  on  the  ground,  and  quawk!   quoth  he,   and 

hopped  across  the  road, 

And  hid  him  in  the  grass,  while  high  above  his  head 

the  birds 
Sang  Victory !  triumphantly,  as  plain  as  human  words ! 

But  they  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  that  dear  ruined 

home  of  theirs, 
The  centre  of  such  hopes  and  joys,  and  such  delightful 


SIR   WILLIAM   PEPPERRELLS  WELL  247 

So  they  turned  away  and  flew  afar,  and  built  another 

nest, 
And  let  us  hope  were  spared  the  woe  of  such  another 

guest! 


SIR  WILLIAM   PEPPERRELL'S   WELL 

ISLES    OF    SHOALS,   A.   D.    1790-1892 

LITTLE  maid  Margaret  and  I, 
All  in  the  sweet  May  weather, 
Roamed  merrily  and  peacefully 
The  island  slopes  together. 

The  sun  was  midway  in  the  west 
That  golden  afternoon; 
The  sparrow  sat  above  his  nest 
And  sang  his  friendly  tune. 

The  sky  was  clear,  the  sea  was  calm, 
The  wind  blew  from  the  south 
And  touched  us  with  a  breath  of  balm, 
And  kissed  her  happy  mouth. 

The  joyful,  smiling  little  maid! 

Her  pretty  hand  in  mine,  — 
"Look,  Thea,  at  the  flowers,"  she  said. 
"  See  how  the  eyebrights  shine !  " 


248  SIR  WILLIAM   PEPPERRELL'S   WELL 

Scattered  like  pearls  all  milky  fair 
Where'er  our  feet  were  set, 
They  glimmered,  swayed  by  gentle  air, 
For  little  Margaret. 

And  here  the  crowfoot's  gold  was  spilled, 
And  there  the  violet 

Its  cream-white  buds  with  fragrance  filled, 
And  all  for  Margaret. 

I  took  a  grassy  path  that  led 

Into  a  rocky  dell. 

"Come  and  I  '11  show  you,  dear,"  I  said, 
"Sir  William  Pepperrell's  well." 

In  the  deep  shadow  of  the  rock 
The  placid  water  hid, 
And  seemed  the  sky  above  to  mock 
Arums  and  ferns  amid. 

"Is  this  Sir  William  Pepperrell's  well? 

But,  Thea,  who  was  he  1 " 
"A  nobleman,  the  records  tell, 

A  lord  of  high  degree." 

"And  did  he  live  here?  "     "Sometimes,  yes: 
Yonder  his  house  stood,  dear, 
By  all  the  scattered  stones  you  'd  guess 
A  dwelling  once  stood  here. 


SIR  WILLIAM  PEPPERRELL'S  WELL         249 

"There  lie  the  doorsteps  large  and  square, 
Where  feet  went  out  and  in 
Long  years  ago;  a  broken  stair; 
And  here  the  walls  begin." 

"How  long  ago  did  they  live  here? " 

Gravely  the  small  maid  spoke; 
"And  tell  me,  did  you  know  them,  Thea,  — 

Sir  William  Pepperrell's  folk?  " 

"  A  hundred  years  they  have  been  dead,  — 

No,  dear,  we  never  met ! " 
"But,  Thea,  you're  so  old,"  she  said, 
"  You  know  you  might  forget ! 

"I  'm  only  six,  I  'm  very  new, 
I  can't  remember  much." 
She  clasped  me,  as  she  nearer  drew, 
With  light  and  gentle  touch. 

"Tell  me,  where  are  they  now?"  asked  she. 

Oh,  question  ages  old! 
"That,  Margaret,  is  a  mystery 

No  mortal  has  been  told. 

"Here  stood  the  house,  there  lies  the  well, 
And  nothing  more  we  know, 
Except  that  history's  pages  tell 
They  lived  here  long  ago." 


250  THE   CHICKADEE 

With  serious  eyes  she  gazed  at  me, 
And  for  a  moment's  space 
A  shadow  of  perplexity 
Flitted  across  her  face. 

Then  dancing  down  the  sunlit  way 
She  gathered  bud  and  bell, 
And  'mid  its  ferns  forgotten  lay 
Sir  William  Pepperrell's  welL 


THE  CHICKADEE 

CARE  keeps  its  hold  with  constant  clasp, 

Whatever  may  betide  us; 
Grief  waits  the  shrinking  heart  to  grasp, 
Pacing,  half  veiled,  beside  us. 
But  oh,  the  sky  is  blue, 

And  oh,  the  sun  is  bright! 
And  the  chickadee  in  the  dark  pine-tree 
Carols  his  meek  delight. 

The  earth  in  silent  snows  is  bound; 

Want  grinds  and  pain  oppresses: 
Life's  awful  problems  who  shall  sound? 

Its  riddles  sad  who  guesses? 

But  oh,  the  sky  is  blue, 
And  oh,  the  sun  is  bright! 


SPRING  PLANTING-TIME  251 

And  the  chickadee  in  the  tall  pine-tree 
Sings  in  the  cold's  despite. 

Give  me  of  thy  wise  hope,  dear  bird, 
Who  brav'st  the  bitter  weather! 
Share  the  glad  message  thou  hast  heard, 
And  let  us  sing  together. 
The  winter  winds  blow  wild, 
No  storm  can  thee  affright. 
Thy  trust  teach  me,  0  chickadee, 
Sweet  chanting  from  thy  height. 


SPRING  PLANTING-TIME 
WHAT  will  you  sow,   little  children,   what  will  you 


In  your  garden  you  wish  that  sweet  flowers  would 
blossom  and  grow  t 

Then  be  careful  to  choose  from  the  myriads  of  wonder- 
ful seeds 

The  caskets  that  lock  up  delight,  and  beware  of  the 
weeds ! 

If  you  sow  nettles,  alas  for  the  crop  you  will  reap ! 
Stings  and  poison  and  pain,  bitter  tears  for  your  eyes 
to  weep. 


252  SPRING  PLANTING-TIME 

If  you  plant  lilies  and  roses  a'nd  pinks  and  sweet  peas 
What  beauty  will  charm  you,  what  perfumes  on  every 
breeze ! 

Thus  will  it  be,  little  folk,  in  the  garden  of  life; 
Sow  seeds  of  ill-nature,  you  '11  reap  only  sorrow  and 

strife ; 
But  pleasant,  kind  words,  gentle  deeds,  happy  thoughts 

if  you  sow, 
What  roses  and  lilies  of  love  will  spring  round  you 

and  grow ! 

Smiles  will  respond  to  yours,  brighter  than  marigolds 

are, 
And  sweeter  than  fragrance  of  any  sweet  flower,   by 

far; 
From  the  blossoms  of  beautiful  deeds  will  a  blessing 

arise, 
And  a  welcome  at  sight  of  you  kindle  in  every  one's 

eyes. 

Then  what  will  you  sow,  my  dear  children,  what  will 

you  sow  1 
Seeds    of   kindness,    of   sweetness,    of   patience,    drop 

softly,  and  lo! 
Love  shall  blossom  around  you  in  joy  and  in  beauty, 

and  make 
A  garden  of  Paradise  here  upon  earth  for  your  sake. 


THE  ALBATROSS  253 


THE   ALBATROSS 

HE  spreads  his  wings  like  banners  to  the  breeze, 
He  cleaves  the  air  afloat  on  pinions  wide, 

Leagues  upon  leagues  across  the  lonely  seas 
He  sweeps  above  the  vast,  uneasy  tide. 

For  days  together  through  the  trackless  skies, 
Steadfast,  without  a  quiver  of  his  plumes, 

Without  a  moment's  pause  for  rest  he  flies 

Through   dazzling   sunshine    and    through    cloudy 
glooms. 

Down  the  green  gulfs  he  slides,  or  skims  the  foain, 

Searching  for  booty  with  an  eager  eye, 
Hovering  aloft  where  the  long  breakers  comb 

O'er  wrecks  forlorn  that  topple  helplessly. 

He  loves  the  tempest,  he  is  glad  to  see 

The  roaring  gale  to  heaven  the  billows  toss, 

For  strong  to  battle  with  the  storm  is  he, 
The  mystic  bird,  the  wandering  albatross  I 


254  THE   NEW   YEAR 


THE   NEW   YEAR 

THE  snow  lies  still  and  white, 
At  the  gate  of  the  glad  New  Year, 
Whose  face  with  hope  is  bright 
Though  the  wintry  world  is  drear. 

She  smiles  with  welcome  sweet, 
She  speaks  in  accents  mild; 
Enter  with  willing  feet 
And  the  heart  of  a  little  child. 

So  shall  you  treasures  find 
Better  than  lands  or  gold, 
Friends  that  are  true  and  kind, 
Love  that  is  wealth  untold. 

Humbly  my  lessons  learn, 
So  shall  you  wisdom  gain 
Deep  peace  your  soul  shall  earn 
Through  the  discipline  of  pain. 

Hark  to  the  New  Year's  voice 
With  its  promise  of  hope  and  cheer! 
Courage,  brave  hearts,  rejoice! 
For  God  is  always  near. 


AN   OPEN   SECRET  255 

Skies  may  be  dark  with  storm, 
While  fierce  the  north  wind  blows, 
Yet  earth  at  heart  is  warm, 
And  the  snowdrift  hides  the  rose. 


AN  OPEN   SECEET 

WHAT  is  it  that  gives  to  the  plainest  face 
The  charm  of  the  noblest  beauty  ? 

Not  the  thought  of  the  duty  of  happiness, 
But  the  happiness  of  duty ! 

This  is  life's  lesson,  children  dear, 
They  are  blest  who  learn  it  early, 

For  it  brightens  the  darkest  way  with  cheer 
Though  Fortune's  face  is  surly. 

There  's  a  certain  narrow,  quiet  path 

Of  daily  thinking  and  living, 
Of  little  acts  of  sacrifice, 

Of  loving  and  forgiving,  — 

Of  patience  and  obedience, 

Of  gentle  speech  and  action, 
Of  choosing  the.  right  and  leaving  the  wrong 

With  a  sunny  satisfaction,  — 


256  GRANDMOTHER   TO   HER   GRANDSON 

And  if  we  never  leave  this  path 

For  the  thing  the  world  calls  pleasure, 

There  will  come  to  meet  us  a  heavenly  joy 
Beyond  all  power  to  measure. 

For  on  this  narrow,  quiet  way 

God's  angels  move  forever, 
Waiting  to  crown  with  cheer  divine 

Our  every  high  endeavor. 

Yes,  this  is  what  lends  to  the  lowliest  face 
The  charm  of  the  noblest  beauty; 

Not  the  thought  of  the  duty  of  happiness, 
But  the  happiness  of  duty ! 


GRANDMOTHER  TO  HER  GRANDSON 

OH,  what  are  all  life's  treasures  worth 

Compared  to  this  love  and  its  sweet  surprise, 

My  little  heaven  upon  the  earth, 

With  your  pale  gold  hair  and  your  serious  eyes! 

Who  could  have  dreamed  that  a  joy  like  this 
Lay  in  wait  on  life's  downward  slope, 

To  flood  the  heart  with  a  freshet  of  bliss, 
And  brighten  eve  with  the  morning's  hope! 


GRANDMOTHER  TO  HER  GRANDSON     257 

How  dear  the  sound  of  the  little  feet, 

And  the  clasp  of  the  little  hand  how  dear, 

And  the  little  voice  that  falls  so  sweet, 
Like  trilling  music  upon  my  ear! 

Oh,  to  shield  you  from  all  life's  harms, 

My  fair  white  lamb  with  the  innocent  eyes, 

To  gather  you  close  in  my  loving  arms 

Safe  from  the  frown  of  the  lowering  skies! 

But  into  the  wide  world  you  must  go 

From  home's  soft  nest  and  its  shelter  warm, 

Sorrow  to  meet  and  care  to  know 

In  ways  that  are  rough  and  dark  with  storm. 

Heaven  be  good  to  you,  dearest  one ! 

Help  you  to  fight  all  the  powers  of  ill, 
Through  life's  long  day  to  its  setting  sun 

Keep  you  God's  soldier  conquering  still. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


5  1997 


Form  L9-17m-8,'55(B3339s4)444 


THIS  UUSKAttX 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


Thaxter  - 


3012  Poems  for  children 

•ZSL 


.39$ 


PS 

3012 
P7$ 
189$ 


